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in  2017  with  funding  from 

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i 


JSernarlJtn  be  S'amt=Pietre 


Paul  and  Virginia 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 

MAURICE  LELOIR 


NEW  YORK : 46  East  14TH  Street. 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  & CO 

BOSTON : 100  Purchase  Street. 


Copyright, 

1892, 

By  T.  Y.  CROWELL  & COc 


Love  of  Nature,  that  strong  feeling  of  enthusiasm 
which  leads  to  a profound  admiration  of  the  whole 
works  of  creation,  belongs,  it  may  be  presumed,  to 
a certain  peculiarity  of  organization,  and  has,  no 
doubt,  existed  in  different  individuals  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  world.  The  old  poets  and  philoso- 
phers, romance-writers  and  troubadours,  had  all 
looked  upon  Nature  with  observing  and  admiring 
eyes.  They  have  most  of  them  given  incidentally 
charming  pictures  of  Spring,  of  the  setting  sun,  of 
particular  spots,  and  of  favorite  flowers. 

There  are  few  writers  of  note,  of  any  country  or 
of  any  age,  from  whom  quotations  might  not  be  made 


2 


MEMOIR  OF 


in  proof  of  the  love  with  which  they  regarded  Nature. 
And  this  remark  applies  as  much  to  religious  and 
philosophic  writers  as  to  poets,  — equally  to  Plato, 
St.  Fran9ois  de  Sales,  Bacon,  and  F^nelon,  as  to 
Shakespeare,  Racine,  Calderon,  or  Burns ; for  from 
no  really  philosophic  or  religious  doctrine  can  the 
love  of  the  works  of  Nature  be  excluded. 

But  before  the  days  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, 
Buffon,  and  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  this  love  of 
Nature  had  not  been  expressed  in  all  its  intensity. 
Until  their  day,  it  had  not  been  written  on  exclu- 
sively. The  lovers  of  Nature  were  not,  till  then,  as 
they  may  perhaps  since  be  considered,  a sect  apart. 
Though  perfectly  sincere  in  all  the  adorations  they 
offered,  they  were  less  entirely,  and  certainly  less 
diligently  and  constantly,  her  adorers. 

It  is  the  great  praise  of  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre, 
that  coming  immediately  after  Rousseau  and  Buffon, 
and  being  one  of  the  most  proficient  writers  of  the 
same  school,  he  was  in  no  degree  their  imitator,  but 
perfectly  original  and  new.  He  intuitively  perceived 
the  immensity  of  the  subject  he  intended  to  explore, 
and  has  told  us  that  no  day  of  his  life  passed  with- 
out his  collecting  some  valuable  materials  for  his 
writings.  In  the  divine  works  of  Nature  he  dili- 
gently sought  to  discover  her  laws.  It  was  his  early 
intention  not  to  begin  to  write  until  he  had  ceased  to 
observe ; but  he  found  observation  endless,  and  that 
he  was  “ like  a child,  who  with  a shell  digs  a hole  in 
the  sand  to  receive  the  waters  of  the  ocean.”  He 
elsewhere  humbly  says,  that  not  only  the  general 
history  of  Nature,  but  even  that  of  the  smallest 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE. 


3 


plant,  was  far  beyond  his  ability.  Before,  however, 
speaking  further  of  him  as  an  author,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  recapitulate  the  chief  events  of  his 
life. 

Henri-Jacques  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre  was  born  at 
Havre  in  1737.  He  always  considered  himself  de- 
scended from  that  Eustache  de  St.  Pierre,  who  is 
said  by  Froissart  (and  I believe  by  Froissart  only) 
to  have  so  generously  offered  himself  as  a victim  to 
appease  the  wrath  of  Edward  the  Third  against 
Calais.  He,  with  his  companions  in  virtue,  it  is  also 
said,  was  saved  by  the  intercession  of  Queen  Phil- 
ippa. In  one  of  his  smaller  works,  Bernardin  asserts 
this  descent,  and  it  was  certainly  one  of  which  he 
might  be  proud.  Many  anecdotes  are  related  of  his 
childhood,  indicative  of  the  youthful  author,  — of  his 
strong  love  of  Nature,  and  his  humanity  to  animals. 

That  “ the  child  is  father  of  the  man”  has  been 
seldom  more  strongly  illustrated.  There  is  a story 
of  a cat,  which,  when  related  by  him  many  years 
afterwards  to  Rousseau,  caused  that  philosopher  to 
shed  tears.  At  eight  years  of  age  he  took  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  the  regular  culture  of  his  garden, 
and  possibly  then  stored  up  some  of  the  ideas  which 
afterwards  appeared  in  the  “ Fraisier.”  His  sym- 
pathy with  all  living  things  was  extreme.  In  “ Paul 
and  Virginia  ” he  praises,  with  evident  satisfaction, 
their  meal  of  milk  and  eggs,  which  had  not  cost  any 
animal  its  life.  It  has  been  remarked,  and  possibly 
with  truth,  that  every  tenderly  disposed  heart, 
deeply  imbued  with  a love  of  Nature,  is  at  times 
somewhat  Braminical.  St.  Pierre’s  certainly  was. 


4 


MEMOIR  OF 


When  quite  young,  he  advanced  with  a clinched 
fist  towards  a carter  who  was  ill-treating  a horse. 
And  when  taken  for  the  first  time,  by  his  father,  to 
Rouen,  having  the  towers  of  the  cathedral  pointed 
out  to  him,  he  exclaimed,  “ My  God ! how  high  they 
fly!”  Every  one  present  naturally  laughed.  Ber- 
nardin  had  only  noticed  the  flight  of  some  swallows 
who  had  built  their  nests  there.  He  thus  early  re- 
vealed those  instincts  which  afterwards  became  the 
guidance  of  his  life,  the  strength  of  which  possibly 
occasioned  his  too  great  indifference  to  all  monu- 
ments of  art.  The  love  of  study  and  of  solitude 
were  also  characteristics  of  his  childhood.  His  tem- 
per is  said  to  have  been  moody,  impetuous,  and  in- 
tractable. Whether  this  faulty  temper  may  not  have 
been  produced  or  rendered  worse  by  mismanage- 
ment, cannot  now  be  ascertained.  It  undoubtedly 
became,  afterwards,  to  St.  Pierre,  a fruitful  source  of 
misfortune  and  of  woe. 

The  reading  of  voyages  was  with  him,  even  in 
childhood,  almost  a passion.  At  twelve  years  of  age, 
his  whole  soul  was  occupied  by  Robinson  Crusoe  and 
his  island.  His  romantic  love  of  adventure  seeming 
to  his  parents  to  announce  a predilection  in  favor  of 
the  sea,  he  was  sent  by  them  with  one  of  his  uncles 
to  Martinique.  But  St.  Pierre  had  not  sufficiently 
practised  the  virtue  of  obedience  to  submit,  as  was 
necessary,  to  the  discipline  of  a ship.  He  was  after- 
wards placed  with  the  Jesuits  at  Caen,  with  whom  he 
made  immense  progress  in  his  studies.  But,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  he  did  not  conform  too  well  to  the  regula- 
tions of  the  college,  for  he  conceived,  from  that  time. 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE, 


s 


the  greatest  detestation  for  places  of  public  educa- 
tion. And  this  aversion  he  has  frequently  testified 
in  his  writings.  While  devoted  to  his  books  of 
travels,  he  in  turn  anticipated  being  a Jesuit,  a mis- 
sionary, or  a martyr : but  his  family  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  him  at  Rouen,  where  he 
completed  his  studies  with  brilliant  success  in  1757. 
He  soon  after  obtained  a commission  as  an  engineer, 
with  a salary  of  a hundred  louis.  In  this  capacity  he 
was  sent  (1760)  to  Dusseldorf,  under  the  command 
of  Count  St.  Germain.  This  was  a career  in  which 
he  might  have  acquired  both  honor  and  fortune ; but, 
most  unhappily  for  St.  Pierre,  he  looked  upon  the 
useful  and  necessary  etiquettes  of  life  as  so  many 
unworthy  prejudices.  Instead  of  conforming  to  them, 
he  sought  to  trample  on  them.  In  addition,  he 
evinced  some  disposition  to  rebel  against  his  com- 
mander, and  was  unsocial  with  his  equals.  It  is  not 
therefore,  to  be  wondered  at,  that  at  this  unfortunate 
period  of  his  existence  he  made  himself  enemies ; or 
that,  notwithstanding  his  great  talents,  or  the  cool- 
ness he  had  exhibited  in  moments  of  danger,  he 
should  have  been  sent  back  to  France.  Unwelcome, 
under  these  circumstances,  to  his  family,  he  was  ill 
received  by  all. 

It  is  a lesson  yet  to  be  learned,  that  genius  gives  no 
charter  for  the  indulgence  of  error,  — a truth  yet  to  be 
remembered,  that  only  a small  portion  of  the  world 
will  look  with  leniency  on  the  failings  of  the  highly 
gifted ; and  that,  from  themselves,  the  consequences 
of  their  own  actions  can  never  be  averted.  It  is  yet, 
alas  ! to  be  added  to  the  convictions  of  the  ardent  in 


6 


MEMOIR  OF 


mind,  that  no  degree  of  excellence  in  science  or  lit- 
erature, not  even  the  immortality  of  a name,  can 
exempt  its  possessor  from  obedience  to  moral  disci- 
pline, or  give  him  happiness,  unless  “ temper’s 
image”  be  stamped  on  his  daily  words  and  actions. 
St.  Pierre’s  life  was  sadly  embittered  by  his  own  con- 
duct. The  adventurous  life  he  led  after  his  return 
from  Dlisseldorf,  some  of  the  circumstances  of  which 
exhibited  him  in  an  unfavorable  light  to  others, 
tended,  perhaps,  to  tinge  his  imagination  with  that 
wild  and  tender  melancholy  so  prevalent  in  his  writ- 
ings. A prize  in  the  lottery  had  just  doubled  his 
very  slender  means  of  existence,  when  he  obtained 
the  appointment  of  geographical  engineer,  and  was 
sent  to  Malta.  The  Knights  of  the  Order  were  at 
this  time  expecting  to  be  attacked  by  the  Turks. 
Having  already  been  in  the  service,  it  was  singular 
that  St.  Pierre  should  have  had  the  imprudence  to 
sail  without  his  commission.  He  thus  subjected 
himself  to  a thousand  disagreeables,  for  the  officers 
would  not  recognize  him  as  one  of  themselves.  The 
effects  of  their  neglect  on  his  mind  were  tremendous  : 
his  reason  for  a time  seemed  almost  disturbed  by  the 
mortifications  he  suffered.  After  receiving  an  insuffi- 
cient indemnity  for  the  expenses  of  his  voyage, 
St.  Pierre  returned  to  France,  there  to  endure  fresh 
misfortunes. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  any  assistance  from  the 
ministry  or  his  family,  he  resolved  on  giving  lessons 
in  the  mathematics.  But  St.  Pierre  was  less  adapted 
than  most  others  for  succeeding  in  the  apparently 
easy,  but  really  ingenious  and  difficult,  art  of  teach- 


BERJVARDm  DE  SAINT-PIERRE., 


7 


ing.  When  education  is  better  understood,  it  will 
be  more  generally  acknowledged,  that,  to  impart 
instruction  with  success,  a teacher  must  possess 
deeper  intelligence  than  is  implied  by  the  profound- 
est  skill  in  any  one  branch  of  science  or  of  art.  All 
minds,  even  to  the  youngest,  require,  while  being 
taught,  the  utmost  compliance  and  consideration ; 
and  these  qualities  can  scarcely  be  properly  exercised 
without  a true  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  united 
to  much  practical  patience.  St.  Pierre,  at  this  period 
of  his  life,  certainly  did  not  possess  them.  It  is 
probable  that  Rousseau,  when  he  attempted  in  his 
youth  to  give  lessons  in  music,  not  knowing  any- 
thing whatever  of  music,  was  scarcely  less  fitted  for 
the  task  of  instruction  than  St.  Pierre  with  all  his 
mathematical  knowledge.  The  pressure  of  poverty 
drove  him  to  Holland.  He  was  well  received  at 
Amsterdam  by  a French  refugee  named  Mustel,  who 
edited  a popular  journal  there,  and  who  procured  him 
employment,  with  handsome  remuneration.  St. 
Pierre  did  not,  however,  remain  long  satisfied  with 
this  quiet  mode  of  existence.  Allured  by  the  en- 
couraging reception  given  by  Catherine  II.  to  foreign- 
ers, he  set  out  for  St.  Petersburg.  Here,  until  he 
obtained  the  protection  of  the  Marechal  de  Munich 
and  the  friendship  of  Duval,  he  had  again  to  contend 
with  poverty.  The  latter  generously  opened  to  him 
his  purse,  and  by  the  Marechal  he  was  introduced  to 
Villebois,  the  Grand  Master  of  Artillery,  and  by  him 
presented  to  the  Empress.  St.  Pierre  was  so  hand- 
some, that  by  some  of  his  friends  it  was  supposed  — 
perhaps  too,  hoped,  — 'that  he  would  supersede 


8 


MEMOIR  OF 


Orloff  in  the  favor  of  Catherine.  But  more  honor- 
able illusions,  though  they  were  but  illusions,  occu-. 
pied  his  own  mind.  He  neither  sought  nor  wished 
to  captivate  the  Empress.  His  ambition  was  to 
establish  a republic  on  the  shores  of  the  lake  Aral, 
of  which,  in  imitation  of  Plato  or  Rousseau,  he  was 
to  be  the  legislator.  Pre-occupied  with  the  reforma- 
tion of  despotism,  he  did  not  sufficiently  look  into 
his  own  heart,  or  seek  to  avoid  a repetition  of  the 
same  errors  that  had  already  changed  friends  into 
enemies,  and  been  such  a terrible  barrier  to  his  suc- 
cess in  life.  His  mind  was  already  morbid,  and  in 
fancying  that  others  did  not  understand  him,  he  for- 
got that  he  did  not  understand  others.  The  Em- 
press, with  the  rank  of  captain,  bestowed  on  him  a 
grant  of  1,500  francs;  but  when  General  Dubosquet 
proposed  to  take  him  with  him  to  examine  the  mili- 
tary position  of  Finland,  his  only  anxiety  seemed  to 
be  to  return  to  France:  still  he  went  to  Finland; 
and  his  own  notes  of  his  occupations  and  experi- 
ments on  that  expedition  prove  that  he  gave  himself 
up  in  all  diligence  to  considerations  of  attack  and 
defence.  He,  who  loved  Nature  so  intently,  seems 
only  to  have  seen  in  the  extensive  and  majestic 
forests  of  the  North  a theatre  of  war.  In  this  in- 
stance, he  appears  to  have  stifled  every  emotion  of 
admiration,  and  to  have  beheld  alike  cities  and  coun- 
tries in  his  character  of  military  surveyor. 

On  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  found  his  pro- 
tector, Villebois,  disgraced.  St.  Pierre  then  resolved 
on  espousing  the  cause  of  the  Poles.  He  went  into 
Poland  with  a high  repufation,  — that  of  having 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE. 


9 


refused  the  favors  of  despotism,  to  aid  the  cause  of 
liberty.  But  it  was  his  private  life,  rather  than  his 
public  career,  that  was  affected  by  his  residence  in 
Poland.  The  Princess  Mary  fell  in  love  with  him, 
and,  forgetful  of  all  considerations,  quitted  her  family 
to  reside  with  him.  Yielding,  however,  at  length, 
to  the  entreaties  of  her  mother,  she  returned  to  her 
home.  St.  Pierre,  filled  with  regret,  resorted  to 
Vienna ; but,  unable  to  support  the  sadness  which 
oppressed  him,  and  imagining  that  sadness  to  be 
shared  by  the  Princess,  he  soon  went  back  to  Poland. 
His  return  was  still  more  sad  than  his  departure,  for 
he  found  himself  regarded  by  her  who  had  once  loved 
him  as  an  intruder.  It  is  to  this  attachment  he 
alludes  so  touchingly  in  one  of  his  letters.  “ Adieu  ! 
friends  dearer  than  the  treasures  of  India ! Adieu  ! 
forests  of  the  North,  that  I shall  never  see  again ! — 
tender  friendship,  and  the  still  dearer  sentiment 
which  surpassed  it ! — days  of  intoxication  and  of 
happiness,  adieu  ! adieu  ! We  live  but  for  a day,  to 
die  during  a whole  life  ! ” 

This  letter  appears  to  one  of  St.  Pierre’s  most  par- 
tial biographers  as  if  steeped  in  tears  ; and  he  speaks 
of  his  romantic  and  unfortunate  adventure  in  Poland 
as  the  ideal  of  a poet's  love. 

“To  be,”  says  M.  Sainte-Beuve,  “ a great  poet, 
and  loved  before  he  had  thought  of  glory ! To  ex- 
hale the  first  perfume  of  a soul  of  genius,  believing 
himself  only  a lover  ! To  reveal  himself,  for  the  first 
time,  entirely,  but  in  mystery  ! ” 

In  his  enthusiasm,  M.  Sainte-Beuve  loses  sight  of 
the  melancholy  sequel,  which  must  have  left  so  sad  a 


lO 


MEMOIR  OF 


remembrance  in  St.  Pierre’s  own  mind.  His  suffer- 
ing from  this  circumstance  may  perhaps  have  con- 
duced to  his  making  Virginia  so  good  and  true,  and 
so  incapable  of  giving  pain. 

In  1766  he  returned  to  Havre;  but  his  relations 
were  by  this  time  dead  or  dispersed,  and  after  six 
years  of  exile,  he  found  himself  once  more  in  his  own 
country,  without  employment,  and  destitute  of  pecu- 
niary resources. 

The  Baron  de  Breteuil  at  length  obtained  for  him 
a commission  as  engineer  to  the  Isle  of  France, 
whence  he  returned  in  1771.  In  this  interval  his 
heart  and  imagination  doubtless  received  the  germs 
of  his  immortal  works.  Many  of  the  events,  indeed, 
of  the  “Voyage  a Pile  de  France,”  are  to  be  found 
modified  by  imagined  circumstances  in  “Paul  and 
Virginia.”  He  returned  to  Paris  poor  in  purse,  but 
rich  in  observations  and  mental  resources,  and 
resolved  to  devote  himself  to  literature.  By  the 
Baron  de  Breteuil  he  was  recommended  to  D’Alem- 
bert, who  procured  a publisher  for  his  “Voyage,” 
and  also  introduced  him  to  Mile,  de  I'Espinasse. 
But  no  one,  in  spite  of  his  great  beauty,  was  so  ill 
calculated  to  shine  or  please  in  society  as  St.  Pierre. 
His  manners  were  timid  and  embarrassed,  and,  unless 
to  those  with  whom  he  was  very  intimate,  he  scarcely 
appeared  intelligent. 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  misunderstanding  should 
prevail  to  such  an  extent,  and  heart  so  seldom  really 
speak  to  heart,  in  the  intercourse  of  the  world,  that 
the  most  humane  may  appear  cruel,  and  the  sympa- 
thizing indifferent.  Judging  of  Mile,  de  I’Espinasse 


BERNAKDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE.  1 1 

from  her  letters,  and  the  testimony  of  her  contem- 
poraries, it  seems  quite  impossible  that  she  could 
have  given  pain  to  any  one,  more  particularly  to  a 
man  possessing  St.  Pierre’s  extraordinary  talent  and 
profound  sensibility.  Both  she  and  D’Alembert 
were  capable  of  appreciating  him ; but  the  society  in 
which  they  moved  laughed  at  his  timidity,  and  the 
tone  of  raillery  in  which  they  often  indulged  was  not 
understood  by  him.  It  is  certain  that  he  withdrew 
from  their  circle  with  wounded  and  mortified  feelings, 
and,  in  spite  of  an  explanatory  letter  from  D’Alem- 
bert, did  not  return  to  it.  The  inflicters  of  all 
this  pain,  in  the  meantime,  were  possibly  as  un- 
conscious of  the  meaning  attached  to  their  words 
as  were  the  birds  of  old  of  the  augury  drawn  from 
their  flight. 

St.  Pierre,  in  his  “ Pr^ambule  de  I’Arcadie,”  has 
pathetically  and  eloquently  described  the  deplorable 
state  of  his  health  and  feelings,  after  frequent  hu- 
miliating disputes  and  disappointments  had  driven 
him  from  society ; or  rather,  when,  like  Rousseau,  he 
was  ‘ ‘ self-banished  ” from  it.  “I  was  struck,”  he  says, 
“ with  an  extraordinary  malady.  Streams  of  fire, 
like  lightning,  flashed  before  my  eyes  : every  object 
appeared  to  me  double  or  in  motion : like  OEdipus, 
I saw  two  suns  ...  In  the  finest  day  of  summer,  I 
could  not  cross  the  Seine  in  a boat  without  experi- 
encing intolerable  anxiety.  If,  in  a public  garden,  I 
merely  passed  by  a piece  of  water,  I suffered  from 
spasms  and  a feeling  of  horror.  I could  not  cross  a 
garden  in  which  many  people  were  collected  : if  they 
looked  at  me,  I immediately  imagined  they  were 


12 


MEMOIR  OF 


speaking  ill  of  me.”  It  was  during  this  state  of  suf- 
fering that  he  devoted  himself  with  ardor  to  collect- 
ing and  making  use  of  materials  for  that  work  which 
was  to  give  glory  to  his  name. 

It  was  only  by  perseverance,  and  disregarding 
many  rough  and  discouraging  receptions,  that  he 
succeeded  in  making  acquaintance  with  Rousseau, 
whom  he  so  much  resembled.  St.  Pierre  devoted 
himself  to  his  society  with  enthusiasm,  visiting  him 
frequently  and  constantly,  till  Rousseau  departed 
for  Ermenonville.  It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark  that 
both  these  men,  such  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Nature 
and  the  natural  in  all  things,  should  have  possessed 
factitious  rather  than  practical  virtue,  and  a wisdom 
wholly  unfitted  for  the  world.  St.  Pierre  asked  Rous- 
seau, in  one  of  their  frequent  rambles,  if,  in  delineat- 
ing St.  Preux,  he  had  not  intended  to  represent  him- 
self. “ No,”  replied  Rousseau,  “St.  Preux  is  not 
what  I have  been,  but  what  I wished  to  be.”  St. 
Pierre  would  most  likely  have  given  the  same  answer 
had  a similar  question  been  put  to  him  with  regard 
to  the  Colonel  in  “ Paul  and  Virginia.”  This,  at  least, 
appears  the  sort  of  old  age  he  loved  to  contemplate 
and  wished  to  realize. 

For  six  years  he  worked  at  his  “ Etudes,”  and 
with  some  difficulty  found  a publisher  for  them.  M. 
Didot,  a celebrated  typographer,  whose  daughter  St. 
Pierre  afterwards  married,  consented  to  print  a man- 
uscript which  had  been  declined  by  many  others. 
He  was  well  rewarded  for  the  undertaking.  The 
success  of  the  “ Etudes  de  la  Nature”  surpassed  the 
most  sanguine  expectation,  even  of  the  author.  Four 


BEI^A^ARDIJV  DE  SAINT-PIERRE,  13 

years  after  its  publication,  St.  Pierre  gave  to  the 
world  “ Paul  and  Virginia,”  which  had  for  some  time 
been  lying  in  his  portfolio.  He  had  tried  its  effect, 
in  manuscript,  on  persons  of  different  characters  and 
pursuits.  They  had  given  it  no  applause,  but  all  had 
shed  tears  at  its  perusal ; and  perhaps  few  works  of 
a decidedly  romantic  character  have  ever  been  so  gen- 
erally read,  or  so  much  approved.  Among  the  great 
names  whose  admiration  of  it  is  on  record,  may  be 
mentioned  Napoleon  and  Humboldt. 

In  1789  he  published  “ Les  Voeux  d’un  Solitaire” 
^nd  “ La  Suite  des  Voeux.”  By  the  Moniteur  of  the 
day  these  works  were  compared  to  the  celebrated 
pamphlet  of  Si^yes,  “ Qu’est-ce  que  le  tiers  6tat?” 
which  then  absorbed  all  the  public  favor.  In  1791 
“ LaChaumiere  Indienne  ” was  published  ; and  in  the 
following  year,  about  thirteen  days  before  the  cele- 
brated loth  of  August,  Louis  XVI . appointed  St. 
Pierre  Superintendent  of  the  “ Jardin  des  Plantes.” 
Soon  afterwards  the  King,  on  seeing  him,  compli- 
mented him  on  his  writings,  and  told  him  he  was 
happy  to  have  found  a worthy  successor  to  Buffon. 

Although  deficient  in  exact  knowledge  of  the  sci- 
ences, and  knowing  little  of  the  world,  St.  Pierre 
was,  by  his  simplicity  and  the  retirement  in  which  he 
lived,  well  suited,  at  that  epoch,  to  the  situation. 
About  this  time,  and  when  in  his  fifty-seventh  year, 
he  married  Mile.  Didot. 

In  1795  he  became  a member  of  the  French 
Academy,  and,  as  was  just,  after  his  acceptance  of 
this  honor,  he  wrote  no  more  against  literary  socie- 
ties. On  the  suppression  of  his  place,  he  retired  to 


14 


MEMOIR  OF 


Essonne.  It  is  delightful  to  follow  him  there,  and 
to  contemplate  his  quiet  existence.  His  days  flowed 
on  peaceably,  occupied  in  the  publication  of  “ Les 
Harmonies  de  la  Nature,”  the  republication  of  his 
earlier  works,  and  the  composition  of  some  lesser 
pieces.  He  himself  aflectingly  regrets  an  interrup- 
tion to  these  occupations.  On  being  appointed  In- 
structor to  the  Normal  School,  he  says,  “ I am 
obliged  to  hang  my  harp  on  the  willows  of  my  river, 
and  to  accept  an  employment  useful  to  my  family  and 
my  country.  I am  afflicted  at  having  to  suspend  an 
occupation  which  has  given  me  so  much  happiness.” 

He  enjoyed,  in  his  old  age,  a degree  of  opulence, 
which,  as  much  as  glory,  had  perhaps  been  the  ob- 
ject of  his  ambition.  In  any  case,  it  is  gratifying  to 
reflect,  that  after  a life  so  full  of  chance  and  change, 
he  was,  in  his  latter  years,  surrounded  by  much  that 
should  accompany  old  age.  His  day  of  storms  and 
tempests  was  closed  by  an  evening  of  repose  and 
beauty. 

Amid  many  other  blessings,  the  elasticity  of  his 
mind  was  preserved  to  the  last.  He  died  at  Eragny 
sur  rOise,  on  the  2ist  of  January,  1814.  The  stir- 
ring events  which  then  occupied  France,  or  rather 
the  whole  world,  caused  his  death  to  be  little  noticed 
at  the  time.  The  Academy  did  not,  however,  neglect 
to  give  him  the  honors  due  to  its  members.  Mons. 
Parseval  Grand  Maison  pronounced  a deserved 
eulogium  on  his  talents,  and  Mons.  Aignan,  also,  the 
customary  tribute,  taking  his  seat  as  his  successor. 

Having  himself  contracted  the  habit  of  confiding 
his  griefs  and  sorrows  to  the  public,  the  sanctuary  of 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE, 


15 


his  private  life  was  open  alike  to  the  discussion  of 
friends  and  enemies.  The  biographer  who  wishes  to 
be  exact,  and  yet  set  down  naught  in  malice,  is  forced 
to  the  contemplation  of  his  errors.  The  secret  of 
many  of  these,  as  well  as  of  his  miseries,  seems 
revealed  by  himself  in  this  sentence : 

“ I experience  more  pain  from  a single  thorn  than 
pleasure  from  a thousand  roses.”  And  elsewhere, 
“ The  best  society  seems  to  me  bad,  if  I find  in  it 
one  troublesome,  wicked,  slanderous,  envious,  or  per- 
fidious person.”  Now,  taking  into  consideration  that 
St.  Pierre  sometimes  imagined  persons  who  were 
really  good  to  be  deserving  of  these  strong  and  very 
contumelious  epithets,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
indeed  to  find  a society  in  which  he  could  have  been 
happy.  He  was,  therefore,  wise  in  seeking  retire- 
ment, and  indulging  in  solitude.  His  mistakes,  — 
for  they  were  mistakes,  — arose  from  a too  quick 
perception  of  evil,  united  to  an  exquisite  and  diffuse 
sensibility.  When  he  felt  wounded  by  a thorn,  he 
forgot  the  beauty  and  perfume  of  the  rose  to  which 
it  belonged,  and  from  which,  perhaps,  it  could  not  be 
separated.  And  he  was  exposed  (as  often  happens) 
to  the  very  description  of  trials  that  were  least  in 
harmony  with  his  defects.  Few  dispositions  could 
have  run  a career  like  his,  and  have  remained  un- 
scathed. But  one  less  tender  than  his  own  would 
have  been  less  soured  by  it.  For  many  years  he 
bore  about  with  him  the  consciousness  of  unacknowl- 
edged talent.  The  world  cannot  be  blamed  for  not 
appreciating  that  which  had  never  been  revealed. 
But  we  know  not  what  the  jostling  and  elbowing  of 


i6 


MEMOIR  OF 


that  world,  in  the  meantime,  may  have  been  to  him 

— how  often  he  may  have  felt  himself  unworthily 
treated,  or  how  far  that  treatment  may  have  preyed 
upon  and  corroded  his  heart.  Who  shall  say  that 
with  this  consciousness  there  did  not  mingle  a quick 
and  instinctive  perception  of  the  hidden  motives  of 
action  — that  he  did  not  sometimes  detect,  where 
others  might  have  been  blinded,  the  undershuffling 
of  the  hands  in  the  b3^-play  of  the  world? 

Through  all  his  writings,  and  throughout  his  cor- 
respondence, there  are  beautiful  proofs  of  the  tender- 
ness of  his  feelings,  — the  most  essential  quality, 
perhaps,  in  any  writer.  It  is  at  least  one  that,  if  not 
possessed,  can  never  be  attained.  The  familiarity 
of  his  imagination  with  natural  objects,  when  he  was 
living  far  removed  from  them,  is  remarkable,  and 
often  affecting. 

He  returned  to  this  country,  so  fondly  loved  and 
deeply  cherished  in  absence,  to  experience  only 
trouble  and  difficulty.  Away  from  it,  he  had  yearned 
to  behold  it,  — to  fold  it,  as  it  were,  once  more  to  his 
bosom.  He  returned  to  feel  as  if  neglected  by  it, 
and  all  his  rapturous  emotions  were  changed  to  bit- 
terness and  gall.  His  hopes  had  proved  delusions 

— his  expectations,  mockeries.  Oh!  who  but  must 
look  with  charity  and  mercy  on  all  discontent  and 
irritation  consequent  on  such  a depth  of  disappoint- 
ment — on  what  must  have  then  appeared  to  him 
such  unmitigable  woe  ! Under  the  influence  of  these 
saddened  feelings,  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
island  he  had  left,  to  place  all  beauty,  as  well  as  all 
happiness,  there  I 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE. 


17 


One  great  proof  that  he  did  beautify  the  distant 
may  be  found  in  the  contrast  of  some  of  the  descrip- 
tions in  the  “Voyage  a Tile  de  France,”  and  those 
in  “ Paul  and  Virginia.”  That  spot  which,  when 
peopled  by  the  cherished  creatures  of  his  imagination, 
he  described  as  an  enchanting  and  delightful  Eden, 
he  had  previously  spoken  of  as  a “ rugged  country, 
covered  with  rocks,”  — “a  land  of  Cyclops  blackened 
by  fire.”  Truth,  probably,  lies  between  the  two 
representations ; the  sadness  of  exile  having  dark- 
ened the  one,  and  the  exuberance  of  his  imagination 
embellished  the  other. 

St.  Pierre's  merit  as  an  author  has  been  too  long 
and  too  universally  acknowledged  to  make  it  needful 
that  it  should  be  dwelt  on  here.  A careful  review  of 
the  circumstances  of  his  life  induces  the  belief  that 
his  writings  grew  (if  it  may  be  permitted  so  to 
speak)  out  of  his  life.  In  his  most  imaginative  pas- 
sages, to  whatever  height  his  fancy  soared,  the 
starting-point  seems  ever  from  a fact.  The  past 
appears  to  have  been  always  spread  out  before  him 
when  he  wrote,  like  a beautiful  landscape,  on  which 
his  eye  rested  with  complacency,  and  from  which  his 
mind  transferred  and  idealized  some  objects  without 
a servile  imitation  of  any.  When  at  Berlin,  he  had 
had  it  in  his  power  to  marry  Virginia  Tanbenheim  ; 
and  in  Russia,  Mile,  de  la  Tour,  the  niece  of  General 
Dubosquet,  would  have  accepted  his  hand.  He  was 
too  poor  to  marry  either.  A grateful  recollection 
caused  him  to  bestow  the  names  of  the  two  on  his 
most  beloved  creation.  Paul  was  the  name  of  a friar 
with  whom  he  had  associated  in  his  childhood,  and 


i8 


MEMOIR  OF 


whose  life  he  wished  to  imitate.  How  little  had  the 
owners  of  these  names  anticipated  that  they  were  to 
become  the  baptismal  appellations  of  half  a genera- 
tion in  France,  and  to  be  re-echoed  through  the 
world  to  the  end  of  time ! 

In  “ Paul  and  Virginia*’  he  was  supremely  fortu- 
nate in  his  subject.  It  was  an  entirely  new  creation, 
uninspired  by  any  previous  work,  but  which  gave 
birth  to  many  others,  having  furnished  the  plot  to 
six  theatrical  pieces.  It  was  a subject  to  which  the 
author  could  bring  all  his  excellences  as  a writer  and 
a man ; while  his  deficiencies  and  defects  were  neces- 
sarily excluded.  In  no  manner  could  he  incorporate 
politics,  science,  or  misapprehension  of  persons, 
while  his  sensibility,  morals,  and  wonderful  talent  for 
description,  were  in  perfect  accordance  with,  and 
ornaments  to  it.  Lemontey  and  Sainte-Beuve  both 
consider  success  to  have  been  inseparable  from  the 
happy  selection  of  a story  so  entirely  in  harmony 
with  the  character  of  the  author ; and  that  the  most 
successful  writers  might  envy  him  so  fortunate  a 
choice.  Bonaparte  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  when- 
ever he  saw  St.  Pierre,  “ M.  Bernardin,  when  do  you 
mean  to  give  us  more  Pauls  and  Virginias,  and  Indian 
Cottages?  You  ought  to  give  us  some  every  six 
months.” 

The  “ Indian  Cottage,”  if  not  quite  equal  in  inter- 
est to  “ Paul  and  Virginia,”  is  still  a charming  pro- 
duction, and  does  great  honor  to  the  genius  of  its 
author.  It  abounds  in  antique  and  Eastern  gems  of 
thought.  Striking  and  excellent  comparisons  are 
scattered  through  its  pages ; and  it  is  delightful  to 


BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE. 


19 


reflect  that  the  following  beautiful  and  solemn  answer 
of  the  Paria  was,  with  St.  Pierre,  the  result  of  his 
own  experience:  “Misfortune  resembles  the  Black 
Mountain  of  Bember,  situated  at  the  extremity  of  the 
burning  kingdom  of  Lahore ; while  you  are  climbing 
it,  you  only  see  before  you  barren  rocks ; but  when 
you  have  reached  its  summit,  you  see  heaven  above 
your  head,  and  at  your  feet  the  kingdom  of  Cache- 
mere.” 

When  this  passage  was  written,  the  rugged  and 
sterile  rock  had  been  climbed  by  its  gifted  author. 
He  had  reached  the  summit,  — his  genius  had  been 
rewarded,  and  he  himself  saw  the  heaven  he  wished 
to  point  out  to  others. 

For  the  facts  contained  in  this  brief  Memoir  the 
writer  is  indebted  to  St.  Pierre's  own  works,  to  the 
“ Biographie  Universelle,”  to  the  “ Essai  sur  la  Vie 
et  les  Ouvrages  de  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,”  by  M. 
Aim6  Martin,  and  to  the  very  excellent  and  interest- 
ing “ Notice  Historique  et  Litt^raire  ” of  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve. 


PREFACE. 


I PROJECTED  a very  grand  design  in  this  little  book. 
I undertook  to  describe  in  it  a soil  and  a vegetation 
different  from  those  in  Europe.  Our  poets  have  long 
enough  placed  their  lovers  on  the  borders  of  streams, 
in  meadows,  and  beneath  leafy  beech-trees.  I have 
chosen  to  seat  them  by  the  margin  of  the  sea,  at  the 
foot  of  the  rocks,  beneath  the  shade  of  cocoanut- 
trees,  banana-trees,  and  flowering  lemon-trees.  A 
Theocritus  and  a Virgil  are  only  needed  in  the  other 
hemisphere  to  give  us  scenes  at  least  as  interesting 
as  those  in  our  own  land.  I am  aware  that  travellers 
of  flne  taste  have  given  us  charming  descriptions  of 
many  islands  of  the  southern  seas ; but  the  manners 
of  their  inhabitants,  and  still  more  those  of  the 
Europeans  who  land  there,  spoil  the  landscape.  I 
wished  to  unite  with  the  beauties  of  Nature  in  the 
tropics,  the  moral  beauty  of  a little  community.  I 
purposed  also  to  bring  out  many  grand  truths,  and 
this  amongst  others  : that  our  happiness  consists  in 
living  according  to  the  dictates  of  Nature  and  Virtue* 


21 


22 


PREFACE. 


Nevertheless  there  has  been  no  need  for  me  to  go  to 
fiction  for  my  description  of  such  happy  families.  I 
can  assert  that  those  of  whom  I write  actually  ex- 
isted ; and  that  their  history  is  true  in  its  principal 
incidents.  This  has  been  certified  by  many  residents 
known  to  me  in  the  Isle  of  France.  I have  only 
filled  in  some  unimportant  details,  but  which  being 
personal  to  myself  have  still  the  stamp  of  reality. 
When  several  years  ago  I drew  out  a very  imperfect 
sketch  of  this  kind  of  pastoral,  I requested  a lady 
well  known  in  society,  and  several  grave  signiors  who 
lived  far  away  from  the  great  world,  to  come  and  hear 
it  read,  so  that  I might  estimate  the  effect  the  tale 
would  produce  upon  readers  of  such  completely  op- 
posite characters.  I had  the  satisfaction  to  see  them 
shed  tears.  This  was  the  only  criticism  I could  ob- 
tain from  them,  and  that  was  all  I desired  to  know. 
But  as  a great  vice  often  follows  a little  talent,  this 
success  inspired  me  with  the  conceit  to  call  my  work 
the  “ Picture  of  Nature.”  Fortunately  I recollected 
how  great  a stranger  I was  to  Nature,  even  in  my 
native  land,  and  in  countries  wherein  I had  merely 
seen  her  productions  en  voyageur,  how  rich,  how 
varied,  beautiful,  wonderful,  and  mysterious  she  is ; 
and  how  devoid  I was  of  talent,  taste,  and  mode  of 
expression  to  appreciate  and  to  describe  her ! I 
drew  back  into  my  shell  again.  Thus  it  happens  that 
I have  included  this  feeble  attempt  under  the  name 
and  in  the  set  of  my  Studies  of  Nature,  which  the 
public  have  received  so  kindly  ; so  that  this  title, 
while  recalling  my  incapacity,  will  always  be  a 
memorial  of  their  indulgence. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Situate  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain  which 
rises  above  Port  Louis,  in  the  Mauritius,  upon  a piece 
of  land  bearing  the  marks  of  former  cultivation,  are 
seen  the  ruins  of  two  small  cottages.  These  ruins 
are  not  far  from  the  centre  of  a valley,  formed  by 
immense  rocks,  and  which  opens  only  towards  the 
north.  On  the  left  rises  the  mountain  called  the 
Height  of  Discovery,  whence  the  eye  marks  the  dis- 
tant sail  when  it  first  touches  the  verge  of  the  hori- 
zon, and  whence  the  signal  is  given  when  a vessel 
approaches  the  island.  At  the  foot  of  this  mountain 
stands  the  town  of  Port  Louis.  On  the  right  is 
formed  the  road  which  stretches  from  Port  Louis  to 
the  Shaddock  Grove,  where  the  church  bearing  that 

23 


24 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


name  lifts  its  head,  surrounded  by  its  avenues  of 
bamboo,  in  the  middle  of  a spacious  plain ; and  the 
prospect  terminates  in  a forest  extending  to  the  far- 
thest bounds  of  the  island.  The  front  view  presents 
the  bay,  denominated  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb : a little 
on  the  right  is  seen  the  Cape  of  Misfortune ; and 
beyond  rolls  the  expanded  ocean,  on  the  surface  of 
which  appear  a few  uninhabited  islands  ; and,  among 
others,  the  Point  of  Endeavor,  which  resembles  a 
bastion  built  upon  the  flood. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley  which  presents  these 
various  objects,  the  echoes  of  the  mountain  inces- 
santly repeat  the  hollow  murmurs  of  the  winds  that 
shake  the  neighboring  forests,  and  the  tumultuous 
dashing  of  the  waves  which  break  at  a distance  upon 
the  cliffs ; but  near  the  ruined  cottages  all  is  calm 
and  still,  and  the  only  objects  which  there  meet  the 
eye  are  rude  steep  rocks,  that  rise  like  a surrounding 
rampart.  Large  clumps  of  trees  grow  at  their  base, 
on  their  rifted  sides,  and  even  on  their  majestic  tops, 
where  the  clouds  seem  to  repose.  The  showers, 
which  their  bold  points  attract,  often  paint  the  vivid 
colors  of  the  rainbow  on  their  green  and  brown 
declivities,  and  swell  the  sources  of  the  little  river 
which  flows  at  their  feet,  called  the  river  of  Fan- 
Palms.  Within  this  enclosure  reigns  the  most  pro- 
found silence.  The  waters,  the  air,  all  the  elements 
are  at  peace.  Scarcely  does  the  echo  repeat  the 
whispers  of  the  palm-trees,  spreading  their  broad 
leaves,  the  long  points  of  which  are  gently  agitated 
by  the  winds.  A soft  light  illumines  the  bottom  of 
this  deep  valley,  on  which  the  sun  shines  only  at 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


25 


noon.  But,  even  at  break  of  day,  the  rays  of  light 
are  thrown  on  the  surrounding  rocks ; and  their 
sharp  peaks,  rising  above  the  shadows  of  the  moun- 
tain, appear  like  tints  of  gold  and  purple  gleaming 
upon  the  azure  sky. 

To  this  scene  I loved  to  resort,  as  I could  here 
enjoy  at  once  the  richness  of  an  unbounded  land- 
scape, and  the  charm  of  uninterrupted  solitude.  One 
day,  when  I was  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  cottages, 
and  contemplating  their  ruins,  a man,  advanced  in 
years,  passed  near  the  spot.  He  was  dressed  in  the 
ancient  garb  of  the  island,  his  feet  were  bare,  and  he 
leaned  upon  a staff  of  ebony : his  hair  was  white, 
and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was  dignified 
and  interesting.  I bowed  to  him  with  respect ; he 
returned  the  salutation ; and,  after  looking  at  me 
with  some  earnestness,  came  and  placed  himself  upon 
the  hillock  on  which  I was  seated.  Encouraged  by 
this  mark  of  confidence,  I thus  addressed  him : — 
“ Father,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  those  cottages 
once  belonged?”  — “ My  son,”  replied  the  old  man, 
“ those  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  that  untilled  land, 
were,  twenty  years  ago,  the  property  of  two  families, 
who  then  found  happiness  in  this  solitude.  Their 
history  is  affecting  ; but  what  European,  pursuing  his 
way  to  the  Indies,  will  pause  one  moment  to  interest 
himself  in  the  fate  of  a few  obscure  individuals? 
What  European  can  picture  happiness  to  his  imagina- 
tion amidst  poverty  and  neglect  ? The  curiosity  of 
mankind  is  only  attracted  by  the  history  of  the 
great,  and  yet  from  that  knowledge  little  use  can  be 
derived.”  — “ Father,”  I rejoined,  “ from  your  man- 


26 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


ner  and  your  observations,  I perceive  that  you  have 
acquired  much  experience  of  human  life.  If  you 
have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I beseech  you,  the  history 
of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  this  desert ; and  be 
assured,  that  even  the  men  who  are  most  perverted 
by  the  prejudices  of  the  world  find  a soothing  pleas- 
ure in  contemplating  that  happiness  which  belongs 
to  simplicity  and  virtue.”  The  old  man,  after  a short 
silence,  during  which  he  leaned  his  face  upon  his 
hands,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  the  images  of 
the  past,  thus  began  his  narration : — 

Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a young  man,  who  was  a na- 
tive of  Normandy,  after  having  in  vain  solicited  a 
commission  in  the  French  army,  or  some  support 
from  his  own  family,  at  length  determined  to  seek  his 
fortune  in  this  island,  where  he  arrived  in  1726.  He 
brought  hither  a young  woman  whom  he  loved  ten- 
derly, and  by  whom  he  was  no  less  tenderly 
beloved.  She  belonged  to  a rich  and  ancient 
family  of  the  same  province ; but  he  had  married  her 
secretly  and  without  fortune,  and  in  opposition  to  the 
will  of  her  relations,  who  refused  their  consent  be- 
cause he  was  found  guilty  of  being  descended  from 
parents  who  had  no  claims  to  nobility.  Monsieur 
de  la  Tour,  leaving  his  wife  at  Port  Louis,  embarked 
for  Madagascar,  in  order  to  purchase  a few  slaves,  to 
assist  him  in  forming  a plantation  in  this  island.  He 
landed  at  Madagascar  during  that  unhealthy  season 
which  commences  about  the  middle  of  October ; and 
soon  after  his  arrival  died  of  the  pestilential  fever 
which  prevails  in  that  island  six  months  of  the  year, 
and  which  will  forever  baffie  the  attempts  of  the 


PA[/L  AND  VIRGINIA. 


27 


European  nations  to  form  establishments  on  that 
fatal  soil.  His  effects  were  seized  upon  by  the 
rapacity  of  strangers,  as  commonly  happens  to  per- 
sons dying  in  foreign  parts ; and 
his  wife,  who  was  pregnant, 
found  herself  a widow  in  a 
country  where  she  had 
neither  credit  nor  ac- 
quaintance, and  no 
earthly  possession, 
or  rather  sup- 
port, but  one 
negro  woman. 
Too  delicate 
to  solicit  pro- 


tection or  relief  from  any  one  else  after  the  death  of 
him  whom  alone  she  loved,  misfortune  armed  her 
with  courage,  and  she  resolved  to  cultivate,  with  her 
slave,  a little  spot  of  ground,  and  procure  for 


28 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


herself  the  means  of  subsistence.  Desert  as  was 
the  island,  and  the  ground  left  to  the  choice  of 
the  settler,  she  avoided  those  spots  which  were 
most  fertile  and  most  favorable  to  commerce : 
seeking  some  nook  of  the  mountain,  some  secret 
asylum  where  she  might  live  solitary  and  unknown, 
she  bent  her  way  from  the  town  towards  these 
rocks,  where  she  might  conceal  herself  from  obser- 
vation. All  sensitive  and  suffering  creatures,  from 
a sort  of  common  instinct,  fly  for  refuge  amidst 
their  pains  to  haunts  the  most  wild  and  desolate ; as 
if  rocks  could  form  a rampart  against  misfortune  — 
as  if  the  calm  of  nature  could  hush  the  tumults  of 
the  soul.  That  Providence,  which  lends  its  support 
when  we  ask  but  the  supply  of  our  necessary  wants, 
had  a blessing  in  reserve  for  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
which  neither  riches  nor  greatness  can  purchase  : — 
this  blessing  was  a friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  fled  had 
already  been  inhabited  for  a year  by  a young  woman 
of  a lively,  good-natured,  and  affectionate  disposi- 
tion. Margaret  (for  that  was  her  name)  was  born  in 
Brittany  of  a family  of  peasants,  by  whom  she  was 
cherished  and  beloved,  and  with  whom  she  might 
have  passed  through  life  in  simple  rustic  happiness, 
if,  misled  by  the  weakness  of  a tender  heart,  she  had 
not  listened  to  the  passion  of  a gentleman  in  the 
neighborhood,  who  promised  her  marriage.  He  soon 
abandoned  her,  and  adding  inhumanity  to  seduction, 
refused  to  insure  a provision  for  the  child  of  which 
she  was  pregnant.  Margaret  then  determined  to 
leave  forever  her  native  village,  and  retire,  where  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


29 


fault  might  be  concealed,  to  some  colony  distant  from 
that  country  where  she  had  lost  the  only  portion  of 
a poor  peasant  girl  — her  reputation.  With  some 


borrowed  money  she  purchased  an  old  negro  slave, 
with  whom  she  cultivated  a little  corner  of  this  dis- 
trict. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  followed  by  her  negro  woman, 
came  to  this  spot,  where  she  found  Margaret  en- 
gaged in  suckling  her  child.  Soothed  and  charmed 
by  the  sight  of  a person  in  a situation  somewhat 


30 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


similar  to  her  own,  Madame  de  la  Tour  related,  in  a 
few  words,  her  past  condition  and  her  present 
wants.  Margaret  was  deeply  affected  by  the  recital ; 
and,  more  anxious  to  merit  confidence  than  to  create 
esteem,  she  confessed,  without  disguise,  the  errors 
of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  “ As  for  me,”  said 
she,  “ I deserve  my  fate;  but  you.  Madam!  — you! 
at  once  virtuous  and  unhappy”  — and,  sobbing,  she 
offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  both  her  hut  and  her 
friendship.  That  lady,  affected  by  this  tender  recep- 
tion, pressed  her  in  her  arms,  and  exclaimed,  “Ah  ! 
surely  Heaven  has  put  an  end  to  my  misfortunes, 
since  it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I am  a stranger,  with 
more  goodness  towards  me  than  I have  ever  experi- 
enced from  my  own  relations  ! ” 

I was  acquainted  with  Margaret ; and,  although 
my  habitation  is  a league  and  a half  from  hence,  in 
the  woods  behind  that  sloping  mountain,  I consid- 
ered myself  as  her  neighbor.  In  the  cities  of 
Europe,  a street,  even  a simple  wall,  frequently  pre- 
vents members  of  the  same  family  from  meeting  for 
years  ; but  in  new  colonies  we  consider  those  persons 
as  neighbors  from  whom  we  are  divided  only  by 
woods  and  mountains  ; and  above  all,  at  that  period, 
when  this  island  had  little  intercourse  with  the 
Indies,  vicinity  alone  gave  a claim  to  friendship,  and 
hospitality  toward  strangers  seemed  less  a duty  than 
a pleasure.  No  sooner  was  I informed  that  Margaret 
had  found  a companion  than  I hastened  to  her,  in 
the  hope  of  being  useful  to  my  neighbor  and  her 
guest.  I found  Madame  de  la  Tour  possessed  of  all 
those  melancholy  graces  which,  by  blending  sympa- 


I 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


31 


thy  with  admiration,  give  to  beauty  additional  power. 
Her  countenance  was  interesting,  expressive  at  once 
of  dignity  and  dejection.  She  appeared  to  be  in  the 
last  stage  of  her  pregnancy.  I told  the  two  friends 
that,  for  the  future  interests  of  their  children,  and  to 
prevent  the  intrusion  of  any  other  settler,  they  had 
better  divide  between  them  the  property  of  this  wild, 
sequestered  valley,  which  is  nearly  twenty  acres  in 
extent.  They  confided  that  task  to  me,  and  I 
marked  out  two  equal  portions  of  land.  One  in- 
cluded the  higher  part  of  this  enclosure,  from  the 
cloudy  pinnacle  of  that  rock,  whence  springs  the 
river  of  Fan-Palms,  to  that  precipitous  cleft  which 
you  see  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and  which, 
from  its  resemblance  in  form  to  the  battlement  of  a 
fortress,  is  called  the  Embrasure.  It  is  difficult  to 
find  a path  along  this  wild  portion  of  the  enclosure, 
the  soil  of  which  is  encumbered  with  fragments  of 
rock,  or  worn  into  channels  formed  by  torrents;  yet 
it  produces  noble  trees  and  innumerable  springs  and 
rivulets.  The  other  portion  of  land  comprised  the 
plain  extending  along  the  banks  of  the  river  of  Fan- 
Palms,  to  the  opening  where  we  are  now  seated, 
whence  the  river  takes  its  course  between  those  two 
hills,  until  it  falls  into  the  sea.  You  may  still  trace 
the  vestiges  of  some  meadow  land  ; and  this  part  of 
the  common  is  less  rugged,  but  not  more  valuable, 
than  the  other ; since  in  the  rainy  season  it  becomes 
marshy,  and  in  dry  weather  is  so  hard  and  unyielding 
that  it  will  almost  resist  the  stroke  of  the  pickaxe. 
When  I had  thus  divided  the  property,  I persuaded 
my  neighbors  to  draw  lots  for  their  respective  posses- 


32 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA. 


sions.  The  higher  portion  of  land,  containing  the 
source  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  became  the  prop- 
erty of  Madame  de  la  Tour;  the  lower,  comprising 
the  plain  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  was  allotted  to 
Margaret;  and  each  seemed  satisfied  with  her  share. 
They  entreated  me  to  place  their  habitations  to- 
gether, that  they  might  at  all  times  enjoy  the  sooth- 
ing intercourse  of  friendship  and  the  consolation  of 
mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's  cottage  was  situated 
near  the  centre  of  the  valley,  and  just  on  the  boun- 
dary of  her  own  plantation.  Close  to  that  spot  I 
built  another  cottage  for  the  residence  of  Madame 
de  la  Tour;  and  thus  the  two  friends,  while  they 
possessed  all  the  advantages  of  neighborhood,  lived 
on  their  own  property.  1 myself  cut  palisades  from 


the  mountain,  and  brought  leaves 

-fo  n T-v  o 1 c ■fV-/~vvv^  -fUc  c.  ciO  C"  It 

se 

DU 


the  entrance  nor  the  roof.  Y et,  alas  ! there  still  remain 
but  too  many  traces  for  my  remembrance  ! Time, 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA. 


33 


which  so  rapidly  destroys  the  proud  monuments  of 
empires,  seems  in  this  desert  to  spare  those  of  friend- 
ship, as  if  to  perpetuate  my  regrets  to  the  last  hour 
of  my  existence. 

As  soon  as  the  second  cottage  was  finished, 
Madame  de  la  Tour  was  delivered  of  a girl.  I had 
been  the  godfather  of  Margaret's  child,  who  was 
christened  by  the  name  of  Paul.  Madame  de  la 
Tour  desired  me  to  perform  the  same  office  for  her 
child  also,  together  with  her  friend,  who  gave  her  the 
name  of  Virginia.  “ She  will  be  virtuous,”  cried 
Margaret,  “ and  she  will  be  happy.  I have  only 
known  misfortune  by  wandering  from  virtue.” 

About  the  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  recovered, 
these  two  little  estates  had  already  begun  to  yield 
some  produce,  perhaps  in  a small  degree  owing  to 
the  care  which  I occasionally  bestowed  on  their  im- 
provement, but  far  more  to  the  indefatigable  labors 
of  the  two  slaves.  Margaret’s  slave,  who  was  called 
Domingo,  was  still  healthy  and  robust,  though 
advanced  in  years  : he  possessed  some  knowledge, 
and  a good  natural  understanding.  He  cultivated 
indiscriminately,  on  both  plantations,  the  spots  of 
ground  that  seemed  most  fertile,  and  sowed  whatever 
grain  he  thought  most  congenial  to  each  particular 
soil.  Where  the  ground  was  poor,  he  strewed 
maize  ; where  it  was  most  fruitful,  he  planted  wheat ; 
and  rice  in  such  spots  as  were  marshy.  He  threw 
the  seeds  of  gourds  and  cucumbers  at  the  foot  of  the 
rocks,  which  they  loved  to  climb,  and  decorate  with 
their  luxuriant  foliage.  In  dry  spots  he  cultivated 
the  sweet  potato  ; the  cotton-tree  flourished  upon  the 


34 


PAUL  AND  VIRG/NTA. 


heights,  and  the  sugar-cane  grew  in  tlie  clayey  soil. 
He  reared  some  plants  of  coffee  on  the  hills,  where 
the  grain,  although  small,  is  excellent.  His  plantain- 
trees,  which  spread  their  grateful  shade  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  and  encircled  the  cottages,  yielded  fruit 
throughout  the  year.  And,  lastly,  Domingo,  to 
soothe  his  cares,  cultivated  a few  plants  of  tobacco. 
Sometimes  he  was  employed  in  cutting  wood  for 
firing  from  the  mountain,  sometimes  in  hewing  pieces 
of  rock  within  the  enclosure,  in  order  to  level  the 
paths.  The  zeal  which  inspired  him  enabled  him  to 
perform  all  these  labors  with  intelligence  and  activity. 
He  was  much  attached  to  Margaret,  and  not  less  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  whose  negro  woman,  Mary,  he 
had  married  on  the  birth  of  Virginia;  and  he  was 
passionately  fond  of  his  wife.  Mary  was  born  at 
Madagascar,  and  had  there  acquired  the  knowledge 
of  some  useful  arts.  She  could  weave  baskets,  and 
a sort  of  stuff,  with  long  grass  that  grows  in  the 
woods.  She  was  active,  cleanly,  and,  above  all, 
faithful.  It  was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals,  to 
rear  the  poultry,  and  go  sometimes  to  Port  Louis, 
to  sell  the  superfluous  produce  of  these  little  planta- 
tions, which  was  not,  however,  very  considerable.  If 
you  add  to  the  personages  already  mentioned  two 
goats,  which  were  brought  up  with  the  children,  and 
a great  dog,  which  kept  watch  at  night,  you  will  have 
a complete  idea  of  the  household,  as  well  as  of  the 
productions,  of  these  two  little  farms. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  triend  were  constantly 
employed  in  spinning  cotton  for  the  use  of  their 
families.  Destitute  of  everything  which  their  own 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


35 


industry  could  not  supply,  at  home  they  went  bare- 
footed : shoes  were  a convenience  reserved  for  Sun- 
day, on  which  day,  at  an  early  hour,  they  attended 
mass  at  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  which 
you  see  yonder.  That  church  was  more  distant  from 


their  homes  than  Port  Louis ; but  they  seldom  vis- 
ited the  town,  lest  they  should  be  treated  with  con- 
tempt on  account  of  their  dress,  which  consisted 
simply  of  the  coarse  blue  linen  of  Bengal,  usually 
worn  by  slaves.  But  is  there  in  that  external  defer- 
ence which  fortune  commands,  a compensation  for 
domestic  happiness  ? If  these  interesting  women  had 
something  to  suffer  from  the  world,  their  homes  on 
that  very  account  became  more  dear  to  them.  No 
sooner  did  Mary  and  Domingo,  from  this  elevated 
spot,  perceive  their  mistresses  on  the  road  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  than  they  flew  to  the  foot  of  the 


PAUL  ANU  VIPG/N/A. 


36 

mountain  in  order  to  help  them  to  ascend.  They 
discerned  in  the  looks  of  their  domestics  the  joy 
which  their  return  excited.  They  found  in  their  re- 
treat neatness,  independence,  all  the  blessings  which 
are  the  recompense  of  toil,  and  they  received  the 
zealous  services  which  spring  from  affection.  United 
by  the  tie  of  similar  wants  and  the  sympathy  of  sim- 
ilar misfortunes,  they  gave  each  other  the  tender 
names  of  companion,  friend,  sister.  They  had  but 
one  will,  one  interest,  one  table.  All  their  posses- 
sions were  in  common.  And  if  sometimes  a passion 
more  ardent  than  friendship  awakened  in  their  hearts 
the  pang  of  unavailing  anguish,  a pure  religion, 
united  with  chaste  manners,  drew  their  affections 
towards  another  life : as  the  trembling  flame  rises 
towards  heaven,  when  it  no  longer  finds  any  aliment 
on  earth. 

The  duties  of  maternity  became  a source  of  addi- 
tional happiness  to  these  affectionate  mothers,  whose 
mutual  friendship  gained  new  strength  at  the  sight  of 
their  children,  equally  the  offspring  of  an  ill-fated 
attachment.  They  delighted  in  washing  their  in- 
infants together  in  the  same  bath,  in  putting  them  to 
rest  in  the  same  cradle,  and  in  changing  the  mater- 
nal bosom  at  which  they  received  nourishment. 
“ My  friend,”  cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  “ we  shall 
each  of  us  have  two  children,  and  each  of  our  chil- 
dren will  have  two  mothers.”  As  two  buds  which 
remain  on  different  trees  of  the  same  kind,  after  the 
tempest  has  broken  all  their  branches,  produce  more 
delicious  fruit,  if  each,  separated  from  the  maternal 
stem,  be  grafted  on  the  neighboring  tree ; so  these 


THE  children’s  BATH. 


Vij* 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


37 


two  infants,  deprived  of  all  their  other  relations, 
when  thus  exchanged  for  nourishment  by  those  who 
had  given  them  birth,  imbibed  feelings  of  affection 
still  more  tender  than  those  of  son  and  daughter, 
brother  and  sister.  While  they  were  yet  in  their 
cradles,  their  mothers  talked  of  their  marriage. 
They  soothed  their  own  cares  by  looking  forward  to 
the  future  happiness  of  their  children  ; but  this  con- 
templation often  drew  forth  their  tears.  The  mis- 
fortunes of  one  mother  had  arisen  from  having 
neglected  marriage ; those  of  the  other  from  having 
submitted  to  its  laws : one  had  suffered  by  aiming  to 
rise  above  her  condition,  the  other  by  descending 
from  her  rank.  But  they  found  consolation  in  reflect- 
ing that  their  more  fortunate  children,  far  from  the 
cruel  prejudices  of  Europe,  would  enjoy  at  once  the 
pleasures  of  love  and  the  blessings  of  equality. 

Rarely,  indeed,  has  such  an  attachment  been  seen 
as  that  which  the  two  children  already  testified  for 
each  other.  If  Paul  complained  of  anything,  his 
mother  pointed  to  Virginia ; at  her  sight  he  smiled, 
and  was  appeased.  If  any  accident  befel  Virginia, 
the  cries  of  Paul  gave  notice  of  the  disaster ; but 
the  dear  little  creature  would  suppress  her  complaints 
if  she  found  that  he  was  unhappy.  When  I came 
hither,  I usually  found  them  quite  naked,  as  is  the 
custom  of  the  country,  tottering  in  their  walk,  and 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands,  and  under  the  arms, 
as  we  see  represented  the  constellation  of  The  Twins. 
At  night  these  infants  often  refused  to  be  separated, 
and  were  found  lying  in  the  same  cradle,  their  cheeks, 
their  bosoms  pressed  close  together,  their  hands 


38 


rAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


thrown  round  each  other’s  neck,  and  sleeping,  locked 
in  one  another’s  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  names  they 
learned  to  give  each  other  were  those  of  brother  and 
sister,  and  childhood  knows  no  softer  appellation. 


Their  education,  by  directing  them  ever  to  consider 
each  other’s  wants,  tended  greatly  to  increase  their 
affection.  In  a short  time,  all  the  household  econ- 
omy, the  care  of  preparing  their  rural  repasts,  be- 
came the  task  of  Virginia,  whose  labors  were  always 
crowned  with  the  praises  and  kisses  of  her  brother. 
As  for  Paul,  always  in  motion,  he  dug  the  garden  with 
Domingo,  or  followed  him  with  a little  hatchet  into 
the  woods  ; and  if,  in  his  rambles,  he  espied  a beau- 
tiful flower,  any  delicious  fruit,  or  a nest  of  birds, 
even  at  the  top  of  a tree,  he  would  climb  up,  and 
bring  the  spoil  to  his  sister.  When  you  met  one  of 
these  children,  you  might  be  sure  the  other  was  not 
far  off. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


39 


One  day,  as  I was  coming  down  that  mountain,  I 
saw  Virginia  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  running 
towards  the  house  with  her  petticoat  thrown  over 
her  head  in  order  to  screen  herself  from  a shower  of 
rain. 

At  a distance,  I thought  she  was  alone ; but  as  I 
hastened  towards  her  in  order  to  help  her  on,  I per- 


ceived that  she  held  Paul  by  the  arm,  almost  entirely 
enveloped  in  the  same  canopy,  and  both  were  laugh- 
ing heartily  at  their  being  sheltered  together  under 
an  umbrella  of  their  own  invention.  These  two 
charming  faces,  in  the  middle  of  the  swelling  petti- 
coat, recalled  to  my  mind  the  children  of  Leda,  en- 
closed in  the  same  shell. 


40 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Their  sole  study  was  how  they  could  please  and 
assist  one  another ; for  of  all  other  things  they  were 
ignorant,  and  indeed  could  neither  read  nor  write. 
They  were  never  disturbed  by  inquiries  about  past 
times,  nor  did  their  curiosity  extend  beyond  the 
bounds  of  their  mountain.  They  believed  the  world 
ended  at  the  shores  of  their  own  island,  and  all  their 
ideas  and  all  their  affections  were  confined  within  its 
limits.  Their  mutual  tenderness,  and  that  of  their 
mothers,  employed  all  the  energies  of  their  minds. 

Their  tears  had  never  been  called  forth  by  tedious 
application  to  useless  sciences.  Their  minds  had 
never  been  wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  super- 
fluous to  bosoms  unconscious  of  ill.  They  had 
never  been  taught  not  to  steal,  because  everything 
with  them  was  in  common  ; or  not  to  be  intemperate, 
because  their  simple  food  was  left  to  their  own  dis- 
cretion ; or  not  to  lie,  because  they  had  nothing  to 
conceal.  Their  young  imaginations  had  never  been 
terrified  by  the  idea  that  God  has  punishments  in 
store  for  ungrateful  children,  since,  with  them,  filial 
affection  arose  naturally  from  maternal  tenderness. 
All  they  had  been  taught  of  religion  was  to  love  it ; 
and  if  they  did  not  offer  up  long  prayers  in  the 
church,  wherever  they  were,  — in  the  house,  in  the 
fields,  in  the  woods,  they  raised  towards  heaven  their 
innocent  hands,  and  hearts  purified  by  virtuous  affec- 
tions. All  their  early  childhood  passed  thus,  like  a 
beautiful  dawn,  the  prelude  of  a bright  day.  Already 
they  assisted  their  mothers  in  the  duties  of  the 
household.  As  soon  as  the  crowing  of  the  wakeful 
cock  announced  the  first  beam  of  the  morning. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


41 


Virginia  arose,  and  hastened  to  draw  water  from  a 
neighboring  spring ; then  returning  to  the  house,  she 
prepared  the  breakfast.  When  the  rising  sun  gilded 
the  points  of  the  rocks  which  overhang  the  enclosure 
in  which  they  lived,  Margaret  and  her  child  repaired 
to  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  where  they 
otfered  up  their  morning  prayer  together.  This 
sacrifice  of  thanksgiving  always  preceded  their  first 
repast,  which  they  often  took  before  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  seated  upon  the  grass,  under  a canopy  of 
plantain : and  while  the  branches  of  that  delicious 
tree  afforded  a grateful  shade,  its  fruit  furnished  a 
substantial  food  ready  prepared  for  them  by  nature ; 
and  its  long  glossy  leaves,  spread  upon  the  table, 
supplied  the  place  of  linen.  Plentiful  and  whole- 
some nourishment  gave  early  growth  and  vigor  to 
the  persons  of  these  children,  and  their  countenances 
expressed  the  purity  and  the  peace  of  their  souls. 
At  twelve  years  of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia  was  in 
some  degree  formed  : a profusion  of  light  hair  shaded 
her  face,  to  which  her  blue  eyes  and  coral  lips  gave 
the  most  charming  brilliancy.  Her  eyes  sparkled 
with  vivacity  when  she  spoke ; but  when  she  was 
silent  they  were  habitually  turned  upwards,  with  an 
expression  of  extreme  sensibility,  or  rather  of  tender 
melancholy.  The  figure  of  Paul  began  already  to 
display  the  graces  of  youthful  beauty.  He  was  taller 
than  Virginia : his  skin  was  of  a darker  tint ; his 
nose  more  aquiline ; and  his  black  eyes  would  have 
been  too  piercing,  if  the  long  eyelashes,  by  which 
they  were  shaded,  had  not  imparted  to  them  an  ex- 
pression of  softness.  He  was  constantly  in  motion. 


42 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


except  when  his  sister  appeared,  and  then,  seated  by 
her  side,  he  became  still.  Their  meals  often  passed 
without  a word  being  spoken  ; and  from  their  silence, 

the  simple  elegance 
of  their  attitudes, 
and  the  beauty  of 
their  naked  feet, 
you  might  have 
fancied  you  beheld 
an  antique  group  of 
white  marble, repre- 
senting some  of  the 
children  of  Niobe, 
but  for  the  glances 
of  their  eyes,  which 
were  constantly 
seeking  to  meet, 
and  their  mutual 
soft  and  tender 
smiles,  which  sug- 
gested rather  the 
idea  of  happy  celes- 
tial spirits,  whose 
nature  is  love,  and 
who  are  not  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  words  for 
the  expression  of  their  feelings. 

In  the  mean  time  Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving 
every  day  some  unfolding  grace,  some  new  beauty,  in 
her  daughter,  felt  her  maternal  anxiety  increase  with 
her  tenderness.  She  often  said  to  me,  “ If  I were 
to  die,  what  will  become  of  Virginia  without  for- 
tune?” 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


43 


Madame  de  la  Tour  had  an  aunt  in  France,  who 
was  a woman  of  quality,  rich,  old,  and  a complete 
devotee.  She  had  behaved  with  so  much  cruelty 
towards  her  niece  upon  her  marriage,  that  Madame 
de  la  Tour  had  determined  no  extremity  of  distress 
should  ever  compel  her  to  have  recourse  to  her  hard- 
hearted relation.  But  when  she  became  a mother, 
the  pride  of  resentment  was  overcome  by  the  stronger 
feelings  of  maternal  tenderness.  She  wrote  to  her 
aunt,  informing  her  of  the  sudden  death  of  her  hus- 
band, the  birth  of  her  daughter,  and  the  difficulties 
in  which  she  was  involved,  burthened  as  she  was  with 
an  infant  and  without  means  of  support.  She 
received  no  answer ; but,  notwithstanding  the  high 
spirit  natural  to  her  character,  she  no  longer  feared 
exposing  herself  to  mortification ; and  although  she 
knew  her  aunt  would  never  pardon  her  for  having 
married  a man  who  was  not  of  noble  birth,  however 
estimable,  she  continued  to  write  to  her,  with  the 
hope  of  awakening  her  compassion  for  Virginia. 
Many  years,  however,  passed  without  receiving  any 
token  of  her  remembrance. 

At  length,  in  1738,  three  years  after  the  arrival  of 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  in  this  island,  Madame 
de  la  Tour  was  informed  that  the  Governor  had  a let- 
ler  to  give  her  from  her  aunt.  She  flew  to  Port 
Louis  : maternal  joy  raised  her  mind  above  all  trifling 
considerations,  and  she  was  careless  on  this  occasion 
of  appearing  in  her  homely  attire.  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  gave  her  a letter  from  her  aunt,  in 
which  she  informed  her  that  she  deserved  her  fate 
for  marrying  an  adventurer  and  a libertine  ; that  the 


44 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


passions  brought  with  them  their  own  punishment ; 
that  the  premature  death  of  her  husband  was  a just 
visitation  from  heaven ; that  she  had  done  well  in 
going  to  a distant  island,  rather  than  dishonor  her 
family  by  remaining  in  France;  and  that,  after  all, 
in  the  colony  where  she  had  taken  refuge,  none  but 
the  idle  failed  to  grow  rich.  Having  thus  censured 
her  niece,  she  concluded  by  eulogizing  herself.  To 
avoid,  she  said,  the  almost  inevitable  evils  of  mar- 
riage, she  had  determined  to  remain  single.  In  fact, 
as  she  was  of  a very  ambitious  disposition,  she  had 
resolved  to  marry  none  but  a man  of  high  rank ; but 
although  she  was  very  rich,  her  fortune  was  not 
found  a sufficient  bribe,  even  at  court,  to  counterbal- 
ance the  malignant  dispositions  of  her  mind,  and  the 
disagreeable  qualities  of  her  person. 

After  mature  deliberation,  she  added,  in  a post- 
script, that  she  had  strongly  recommended  her  niece 
to  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais.  This  she  had  indeed 
done,  but  in  a manner  of  late  too  common,  which 
renders  a patron  perhaps  even  more  to  be  feared  than 
a declared  enemy ; for,  in  order  to  justify  herself  for 
her  harshness,  she  had  cruelly  slandered  her  niece, 
while  she  affected  to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  whom  no  unprejudiced  person 
could  have  seen  without  feelings  of  sympathy  and 
respect,  was  received  with  the  utmost  coolness 
by  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  biassed  as  he  was 
against  her.  When  she  painted  to  him  her  own  sit- 
uation, and  that  of  her  child,  he  replied  in  abrupt 
sentences,  “ We  will  see  what  can  be  done  ; there  are 
so  many  to  relieve  ; all  in  good  time.  Why  did  you 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


45 


displease  your  aunt?  You  have  been  much  to 
blame.” 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage,  her 
heart  torn  with  grief,  and  filled  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  disappointment.  When  she  arrived,  she 
threw  her  aunt’s  letter  on  the  table,  and  exclaimed 
to  her  friend,  “ There  is  the  fruit  of  eleven  years  of 


patient  expectation!”  Madame  de  la  Tour  being 
the  only  person  in  the  little  circle  who  could  read,  she 
again  took  up  the  letter,  and  read  it  aloud.  Scarcely 
had  she  finished,  when  Margaret  exclaimed,  “What 
have  we  to  do  with  your  relations  ? Has  God  then  for- 
saken us  ? He  only  is  our  father.  Have  we  not  hith- 
erto been  happy  ? Why  then  this  regret  ? You  have 
no  courage.”  Seeing  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  tears. 


46 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


she  threw  herself  upon  her  neck,  and  pressing  her  in 
her  arms,  “My  dear  friend!”  cried  she,  “ my  dear 
friend!”  — but  her  emotion  choked  her  utterance. 
At  this  sight  Virginia  burst  into  tears,  and  pressed 
her  mother’s  and  Margaret’s  hands  alternately  to  her 
lips  and  heart;  while  Paul,  his  eyes  inflamed  with 
anger,  cried,  clasped  his  hands  together,  and  stamped 
with  his  foot,  not  knowing  whom  to  blame  for  this 
scene  of  misery.  The  noise  soon  brought  Domingo 
and  Mary  to  the  spot,  and  the  little  habitation  re- 
sounded with  cries  of  distress,  — “Ah,  Madame  ! My 
good  mistress  ! My  dear  mother  ! Do  not  weep  ! ” 
These  tender  proofs  of  affection  at  length  dispelled  the 
grief  of  Madame  de  la  Tour.  She  took  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia in  her  arms,  and,  embracing  them,  said,  “ You 
are  the  cause  of  my  affliction,  my  children,  but  you 
are  also  my  only  source  of  delight ! Yes,  my  dear  chil- 
dren, misfortune  has  reached  me,  but  only  from  a dis- 
tance : here,  I am  surrounded  with  happiness.”  Paul 
and  Virginia  did  not  understand  this  reflection ; but, 
when  they  saw  that  she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and 
continued  to  caress  her.  Tranquillity  was  thus  re- 
stored in  this  happy  family,  and  all  that  had  passed 
was  but  as  a storm  in  the  midst  of  fine  weather,  which 
disturbs  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere  but  for  a short 
time,  and  then  passes  away. 

The  amiable  disposition  of  these  children  unfolded 
itself  daily.  One  Sunday,  at  daybreak,  their  mothers 
having  gone  to  mass  at  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  the  children  perceived  a negro  woman  be- 
neath the  plantains  which  surrounded  their  habita- 
tion. She  appeared  almost  wasted  to  a skeleton. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


47 


and  had  no  other  garment  than  a piece  of  coarse 
cloth  thrown  around  her.  She  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  Virginia,  who  was  preparing  the  family  break- 
fast, and  said,  “My  good  young  lady,  have  pity  on 
a poor  runaway  slave.  For  a whole  month  I have 
wandered  among  these  mountains,  half  dead  with 
hunger,  and  often  pursued  by  the  hunters  and  their 
dogs.  I fled  from  my  master,  a rich  planter  of  the 
Black  River,  who  has  used  me  as  you  see ; ” and  she 
showed  her  body  marked  with  scars  from  the  lashes 
she  had  received.  She  added,  “ I was  going  to 
drown  myself ; but  hearing  you  lived  here,  I said 
to  myself.  Since  there  are  still  some  good  white 
people  in  this  country,  I need  not  die  yet.”  Vir- 
ginia answered  with  emotion,  “ Take  courage,  unfor- 
tunate creature  ! here  is  something  to  eat ; ” and  she 
gave  her  the  breakfast  she  had  been  preparing,  which 
the  slave  in  a few  minutes  devoured.  When  her 
hunger  was  appeased,  Virginia  said  to  her,  “Poor 
woman ! I should  like  to  go  and  ask  forgiveness  for 
you  of  your  master.  Surely  the  sight  of  you  will 
touch  him  with  pity.  Will  you  show  me  the  way  ? ” 
“Angel  of  heaven!”  answered  the  poor  negro- 
woman,  “ I will  follow  you  where  you  please.”  Vir- 
ginia called  her  brother,  and  begged  him  to  accom- 
pany her.  The  slave  led  the  way,  by  winding  and 
diflicult  paths  through  the  woods,  over  mountains, 
which  they  climbed  with  difficulty,  and  across  rivers, 
through  which  they  were  obliged  to  wade.  At 
length,  about  the  middle  of  the  day,  they  reached 
the  foot  of  a steep  descent  upon  the  borders  of  the 
Black  River.  There  they  perceived  a well-built 


48 


PAUL  AND  V/RGINIA. 


house  surrounded  by  extensive  plantations,  and  a 
number  of  slaves  employed  in  their  various  labors. 
Their  master  was  walking  among  them  with  a pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  a switch  in  his  hand.  He  was  a tall, 
thin  man,  of  a brown  complexion  ; his  eyes  were 


sunk  in  his  head,  and  his  dark  eyebrows  were  joined 
in  one.  Virginia,  holding  Paul  by  the  hand,  drew 
near,  and  with  much  emotion  begged  him  for  the  love 
of  God,  to  pardon  his  poor  slave,  who  stood  trembling 
a few  paces  behind.  The  planter  at  first  paid  little 
attention  to  the  children,  who,  he  saw,  were  meanly 
dressed.  But  when  he  observed  the  elegance  of 


THE  SLAVE  PARDONED. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


49 


Virginia’s  form,  and  the  profusion  of  her  beautiful 
light  tresses,  which  had  escaped  from  beneath  her 
blue  cap ; when  he  heard  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice, 
which  trembled,  as  well  as  her  whole  frame,  while  she 
implored  his  compassion ; he  took  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  and  lifting  up  his  stick,  swore,  with  a terrible 
oath,  that  he  pardoned  his  slave,  not  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked  his  forgiveness.  Vir- 
ginia made  a sign  to  the  slave  to  approach  her  mas- 
ter; and  instantly  sprang  away,  followed  by  Paul. 

They  climbed  up  the  steep  they  had  descended ; 
and  having  gained  the  summit,  seated  themselves  at 
the  foot  of  a tree,  overcome  with  fatigue,  hunger,  and 
thirst.  They  had  left  their  home  fasting,  and  had 
walked  five  leagues  since  sunrise.  Paul  said  to  Vir- 
ginia, “ My  dear  sister,  it  is  past  noon,  and  I am  sure 
you  are  thirsty  and  hungry : we  shall  find  no  dinner 
here ; let  us  go  down  the  mountain  again,  and  ask 
the  master  of  the  poor  slave  for  some  food.” — “ Oh, 
no,”  answered  Virginia,  “ he  frightens  me  too  much. 
Remember  what  Mamma  sometimes  says,  ‘ The 
bread  of  the  wicked  is  like  stones  in  the  mouth.’  ^ 
“ What  shall  we  do  then  ?”  said  Paul ; “ these  trees 
produce  no  fruit  fit  to  eat ; and  I shall  not  be  able  to 
find  even  a tamarind  or  a lemon  to  refresh  you.”  — 
“ God  will  take  care  of  us,”  replied  Virginia;  “ He 
listens  to  the  cry  even  of  the  little  birds  when  they 
ask  Him  for  food.”  Scarcely  had  she  pronounced 
these  words  when  they  heard  the  noise  of  water  fall- 
ing from  a neighboring  rock.  They  ran  thither,  and 
having  quenched  their  thirst  at  this  crystal  spring, 
they  gathered  and  ate  a few  cresses  which  grew  on 


so 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  border  of  the  stream.  Soon  afterwards,  while 
they  were  wandering  backwards  and  forwards  in 
search  of  more  solid  nourishment,  Virginia  per- 
ceived in  the  thickest  part  of  the  forest,  a young 
palm-tree.  The  kind  of  cabbage  which  is  found  at 
the  top  of  the  palm,  infolded  within  its  leaves,  is 
well  adapted  for  food;  but  although  the  stalk  of  the 
tree  is  not  thicker  than  a man’s  leg,  it  grows  to 
above  sixty  feet  in  height.  The  wood  of  the  tree, 
indeed,  is  composed  only  of  very  fine  filaments  ; but 
the  bark  is  so  hard  that  it  turns  the  edge  of  the 
hatchet,  and  Paul  was  not  furnished  even  with  a 
knife.  At  length  he  thought  of  setting  fire  to  the 
palm-tree  ; but  a new  difficulty  occurred  : he  had  no 
steel  with  which  to  strike  fire ; and  although  the 
whole  island  is  covered  with  rocks,  I do  not  believe 
it  is  possible  to  find  a single  flint.  Necessity,  how- 
ever, is  fertile  in  expedients,  and  the  rnost  useful  in- 
ventions have  arisen  from  men  placed  in  the  most 
destitute  situations. 

Paul  determined  to  kindle  a fire  in  the  manner  of 
the  negroes.  With  the  sharp  end  of  a stone  he  made 
a small  hole  in  the  branch  of  a tree  that  was  quite 
dry,  and  which  he  held  between  his  feet ; he  then, 
with  the  edge  of  the  same  stone,  brought  to  a point 
another  dry  branch  of  a different  sort  of  wood,  and 
afterwards,  placing  the  piece  of  pointed  wood  in  the 
small  hole  of  the  branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet, 
and  turning  it  rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a few 
minutes  smoke  and  sparks  of  fire  issued  from  the 
point  of  contact.  Paul  then  heaped  together  dried 
grass  and  branches,  and  set  fire  to  the  foot  of  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  5 1 

palm-tree,  which  soon  fell  to  the  ground  with  a 
tremendous  crash.  The  fire  was  further  useful  to 
him  in  stripping  off  the  long,  thick,  and  pointed 
leaves,  within  which  the  cabbage  was  enclosed. 

Having  thus  succeeded  in  obtaining  this  fruit,  they 
ate  part  of  it  raw,  and  part  dressed  upon  the  ashes, 
which  they  found  equally  palatable.  They  made  this 
frugal  repast  with  delight,  from  the  remembrance  of 
the  benevolent  action  they  had  performed  in  the 
morning : yet  their  joy  was  embittered  by  the 
thoughts  of  the  uneasiness  which  their  long  absence 
from  home  would  occasion  their  mothers. 

Virginia  often  recurred  to  this  subject : but  Paul, 
who  felt  his  strength  renewed  by  their  meal,  assured 
her,  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  they  reached 
home,  and,  by  the  assurance  of  their  safety,  tranquil- 
lized the  minds  of  their  parents. 

After  dinner  they  were  much  embarrassed  by  the 
recollection  that  they  had  now  no  guide,  and  that 
they  were  ignorant  of  the  way.  Paul,  whose  spirit 
was  not  subdued  by  difficulties,  said  to  Virginia,  — 
“The  sun  shines  full  upon  our  huts  at  noon:  we 
must  pass,  as  we  did  this  morning,  over  that  moun- 
tain with  its  three  points,  which  you  see  yonder. 
Come,  let  us  be  moving.”  This  mountain  was  that 
of  the  Three  Breasts,  so  called  from  the  form  of  its 
three  peaks.  They  then  descended  the  steep  bank 
of  the  Black  River,  on  the  northern  side ; and 
arrived,  after  an  hour’s  walk,  on  the  banks  of  a large 
river,  which  stopped  their  further  progress.  This 
large  portion  of  the  island,  covered  as  it  is  with  for- 
ests, is  even  now  so  little  known,  that  many  of  its 


UNIVERSITY  Of  lUINOII 
library 


52 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


rivers  and  mountains  have  not  yet  received  a name. 
The  stream,  on  the  banks  of  which  Paul  and  Virginia 
were  now  standing,  rolls  foaming  over  a bed  of  rocks. 
The  noise  of  the  water  frightened  Virginia,  and' she 
was  afraid  to  wade  through  the  current : Paul  there- 
fore took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  went  thus  loaded 
over  the  slippery  rocks  which  formed  the  bed  of  the 
river,  careless  of  the  tumultuous  noise  of  its  waters. 
“Do  not  be  afraid,”  cried  he  to  Virginia,  “I  feel 
very  strong  with  you.  If  that  planter  at  the  Black 
River  had  refused  you  the  pardon  of  his  slave,  I 
would  have  fought  with  him.”  — “ What ! ” answered 
Virginia,  “with  that  great  wicked  man!  To  what 
have  I exposed  you  ! Gracious  heaven  ! How  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  do  good ! and  yet  it  is  so  easy  to  do 
wrong.” 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he  wished  to 
continue  the  journey  carrying  his  sister ; and  he  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  could  ascend  in  that  way  the 
mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts,  which  was  still  at 
the  distance  of  half  a league ; but  his  strength  soon 
failed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  set  down  his  burthen, 
and  to  rest  himself  by  her  side.  Virginia  then  said 
to  him,  — ■ “ My  dear  brother,  the  sun  is  going  down  ; 
you  have  still  some  strength  left,  but  mine  has  quite 
failed  : do  leave  me  here,  and  return  home  alone  to 
ease  the  fears  of  our  mothers.”  — “Oh,  no,”  said 
Paul,  “ I will  not  leave  you.  If  night  overtakes  us 
in  this  wood,  I will  light  a fire,  and  bring  down 
another  palm-tree : you  shall  eat  the  cabbage,  and  I 
will  form  a covering  of  the  leaves  to  shelter  you.” 
In  the  mean  time,  Virginia  being  a little  rested,  she 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


S3 


gathered  from  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  which  over- 
hung the  bank  of  the  river,  some  long  leaves  of  the 
plant  called  hart’s  tongue,  which  grew  near  its  root. 

Of  these  leaves  she  made  a 
sort  of  buskin,  with  which 
she  covered  her  feet,  that  were 
bleeding  from  the  sharpness 
of  the  stony  paths  ; for,  in  her 
eager  desire  to  do  good,  she 
had  forgotten  to 
put  on  her  shoes. 
Feeling  her  feet 
cooled  by  the 
freshness  of  the 
leaves,  she  broke 
off  a branch  of 
bamboo,  and 
continued  her 
walk,  leaning 
with  one  hand 
on  the  staff,  and 
with  the  other 
on  Paul. 

They  walked  on 
in  this  manner 
slowly  through 

the  woods ; but  from  the  height  of  the  trees,  and  the 
thickness  of  their  foliage,  they  soon  lost  sight  of 
the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts,  by  which  they 
had  hitherto  directed  their  course,  and  also  of  the 
sun,  which  was  now  setting.  At  length  they  wan- 
dered, without  perceiving  it,  from  the  beaten  path  in 


54 


PAUL  AND  VIRG/NIA. 


which  they  had  hitherto  walked,  and  found  them- 
selves in  a labyrinth  of  trees,  underwood,  and  rocks, 
whence  there  appeared  to  be  no  outlet.  Paul  made 
Virginia  sit  down,  while  he  ran  backwards  and  for- 
wards, half  frantic,  in  search  of  a path  which  might  lead 
them  out  of  this  thick  wood  ; but  he  fatigued  himself 
to  no  purpose.  He  then  climbed  to  the  top  of  a lofty 
tree,  whence  he  hoped  at  least  to  perceive  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Three  Breasts : but  he  could  discern 
nothing  around  him  but  the  tops  of  trees,  some  of 
which  were  gilded  with  the  last  beams  of  the  setting 
sun.  Already  the  shadows  of  the  mountains  were 
spreading  over  the  forests  in  the  valleys.  The  wind 
lulled,  as  is  usually  the  case  at  sunset. 

The  most  profound  silence  reigned  in  those  awful 
solitudes,  which  was  only  interrupted  by  the  cry  of 
the  deer,  who  came  to  their  lairs  in  that  unfrequented 
spot.  Paul,  in  the  hope  that  some  hunter  would  hear 
his  voice,  called  out  as  loud  as  he  was  able,  — 
“Come,  come  to  the  help  of  Virginia!”  But  the 
echoes  of  the  forest  alone  answered  his  call,  and 
repeatea  again  and  again  — “ Virginia  — Virginia  I ” 

Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree,  overcome 
with  fatigue  and  vexation.  He  looked  around  in 
order  to  make  some  arrangement  for  passing  the 
night  in  that  desert ; but  he  could  find  neither  foun- 
tain nor  palm-tree,  nor  even  a branch  of  dryivood  fit 
for  kindling  a fire.  He  was  then  impressed,  by  expe- 
rience, with  the  sense  of  his  own  weakness,  and 
began  to  weep.  Virginia  said  to  him,  — “ Do  not 
weep,  my  dear  brother,  or  I shall  be  overwhelmed 
with  grief.  I am  the  cause  of  all  your  sorrow,  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


55 


of  all  that  our  mothers  are  suffering  at  this  moment. 
I find  we  ought  to  do  nothing,  not  even  good,  with- 
out consulting  our  parents.  Oh,  I have  been  very 
imprudent!”  — and  she  began  to  shed  tears.  “Let 
us  pray  to  God,  my  dear  brother,”  she  again  said, 
“and  He  will  hear  us.”  They  had  scarcely  finished 
their  prayer,  when  they  heard  the  barking  of  a dog. 
“ It  must  be  the  dog  of  some  hunter,”  said  Paul, 


“who  comes  here  at  night,  to  lie  in  wait  for  the 
deer.”  Soon  after,  the  dog  began  barking  again 
with  increased  violence.  “Surely,”  said  Virginia, 
“it  is  Fiddle,  our  own  dog:  yes,  — now  I know  his 
bark.  Are  we  then  so  near  home?  — at  the  foot  of 
our  own  mountain  ? ” A moment  after.  Fiddle  was  at 
their  feet,  barking,  howling,  moaning,  and  devouring 
them  with  his  caresses.  Before  they  could  recover 
from  their  surprise,  they  saw  Domingo  running 
towards  them.  At  the  sight  of  the  good  old  negro. 


rAC/L  AND  VIRGINIA. 


56 

who  wept  for  joy,  they  began  to  weep  too,  but  had 
not  the  power  to  utter  a syllable.  When  Domingo 
had  recovered  himself  a little,  — “ Oh,  my  dear  chil- 
dren,” said  he,  “ how  miserable  have  you  made  your 
mothers ! How  astonished  they  were,  when  they 
returned  with  me  from  mass,  on  not  finding  you  at 
home.  Mary,  who  was  at  work  a little  distance, 
could  not  tell  us  where  you  were  gone. 

“ I ran  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  plantation, 
not  knowing  where  to  look  for  you.  At  last  I took 
some  of  your  old  clothes,  and  showing  them  to 
Fiddle,  the  poor  animal,  as  if  he  understood  me, 
immediately  began  to  scent  your  path  ; and  conducted 
me,  wagging  his  tail  all  the  while,  to  the  Black  River. 
I there  saw  a planter,  who  told  me  you  had  brought 
back  a Maroon  negro-woman,  his  slave,  and  that  he 
had  pardoned  her  at  your  request.  But  what  a par- 
don ! he  showed  her  to  me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a 
block  of  wood,  and  an  iron  collar  with  three  hooks 
fastened  round  her  neck  ! After  that.  Fiddle,  still  on 
the  scent,  led  me  up  the  steep  bank  of  the  Black 
River,  where  he  again  stopped,  and  barked  with  all 
his  might.  This  was  on  the  brink  of  a spring,  near 
which  was  a fallen  palm-tree,  and  a fire,  still  smok- 
ing. At  last  he  led  me  to  this  very  spot.  We  are 
now  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three 
Breasts,  and  still  four  good  leagues  from  home. 
Come,  eat,  and  recover  your  strength.”  Domingo 
then  presented  them  with  a cake,  some  fruit,  and  a 
large  gourd,  full  of  a beverage  composed  of  wine, 
water,  lemon-juice,  sugar,  and  nutmeg,  which  their 
mothers  had  prepared  to  invigorate  and  refresh  them. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


S7 


Virginia  sighed  at  the  recollection  of  the  poor  slave, 
and  at  the  uneasiness  they  had  given  their  mothers. 

She  repeated  several  times  — 
“ Oh,  how  difficult  it  is  to  do 
good  ! ” 

While  she  and  Paul  were 
taking  refreshment,  it  be- 
ing already  night,  Domingo 
kindled  a fire ; and  having 


found  among  the  rocks  a particular  kind  of  twisted 
wood,,  called  bois  de  ronde.,  which  burns  when 
quite  green,  and  throws  out  a great  blaze,  he  made 
a torch  of  it,  which  he  lighted.  But  when  they 
prepared  to  continue  their  journey,  a new  difficulty 
occurred;  Paul  and  Virginia  could  no  longer  walk, 


58 


PAUL  AND  V/RGLN/A. 


their  feet  being  violently  swollen  and  inflamed. 
Domingo  knew  not  what  to  do ; whether  to  leave 
them,  and  go  in  search  of  help,  or  remain  and  pass 
the  night  with  them  on  that  spot.  “ There  was  a 
time,”  said  he,  “when  I could  carry  you  both 
together  in  my  arms.  But  now  you  are  grown  big, 
and  I am  grown  old.”  While  he  was  in  this  per- 
plexity, a troop  of  Maroon  negroes  appeared  at  a 
short  distance  from  them.  The  chief  of  the  band, 
approaching  Paul  and  Virginia,  said  to  them,  — 
“ Good  little  white  people,  do  not  be  afraid.  We 
saw  you  pass  this  morning  with  a negro-woman  of  the 
Black  River.  You  went  to  ask  pardon  for  her  of  her 
wicked  master:  and  we  in  return  for  this,  will  carry 
you  home  upon  our  shoulders.”  He  then  made  a 
sign,  and  four  of  the  strongest  negroes  immediately 
formed  a sort  of  litter  with  the  branches  of  trees  and 
lianas,  and  having  seated  Paul  and  Virginia  on  it,  car- 
ried them  upon  their  shoulders.  Domingo  marched 
in  front  with  his  lighted  torch,  and  they  proceeded 
amidst  the  rejoicings  of  the  whole  troop,  who  over- 
whelmed them  with  their  benedictions.  Virginia, 
affected  by  this  scene,  said  to  Paul,  with  emotion,  — 
“Oh,  my  dear  brother!  God  never  leaves  a good 
action  unrewarded.” 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
their  mountain,  on  the  ridges  of  which  several  fires 
were  lighted.  As  soon  as  they  began  to  ascend,  they 
heard  voices  exclaiming,  — “ Is  it  you,  my  children?  ” 
They  answered  immediately,  and  the  negroes  also, 
“Yes,  yes,  it  is.”  A moment  after  they  could  dis- 
tinguish their  mothers  and  Mary  coming  towards 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,  59 

them  with  lighted  sticks  in  their  hands.  “ Unhappy 
children,”  cried  Madame  de  la  Tiour,  “ where  have 


you  been?  What  agonies  you  have  made  us  suffer ! ” 
— “We  have  been,”  said  Virginia,  “to  the  Black 
River,  where  we  went  to  ask  pardon  for  a poor 
Maroon  slave,  to  whom  1 gave  our  breakfast  this 


6o 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


morning,  because  she  seemed  dying  of  hunger ; and 
these  Maroon  negroes  have  brought  us  home.” 
Madame  de  la  Tour  embraced  her  daughter,  without 
being  able  to  speak ; and  Virginia,  who  felt  her  face 
wet  with  her  mothers  tears,  exclaimed,  — “ Now  I 
am  repaid  for  all  the  hardships  I have  suffered.” 
Margaret,  in  a transport  of  delight,  pressed  Paul  in 
her  arms,  exclaiming,  — “And  you  also,  my  dear 
child!  you  have  done  a good  action.”  When  they 
reached  the  cottages  with  their  children,  they  enter- 
tained alhthe  negroes  with  a plentiful  repast,  after 
which  the  latter  returned  to  their  woods,  praying 
Heaven  to  shower  down  every  description  of  blessing 
on  those  good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  these  families  a day  of  happi- 
ness and  of  tranquillity.  Neither  ambition  nor  envy 
disturbed  their  repose.  They  did  not  seek  to  obtain 
a useless  reputation  out  of  doors,  which  may  be  pro- 
cured by  artifice,  and  lost  by  calumny  ; but  were  con- 
tented to  be  the  sole  witnesses  and  judges  of  their 
own  actions.  In  this  island,  where,  as  is  the  case 
in  most  colonies,  scandal  forms  the  principal  topic  of 
conversation,  their  virtues,  and  even  their  names, 
were  unknown.  The  passer-by  on  the  road  to  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  indeed,  would  sometimes  ask  the 
inhabitants  of  the  plain,  who  lived  in  the  cottages 
up  there  ? and  was  alw'ays  told,  even  by  those  who 
did  not  know  them,  “ They  are  good  people.”  The 
modest  violet  thus,  concealed  in  thorny  places,  sheds 
all  unseen  its  delightful  fragrance  around. 

Slander,  which,  under  an  appearance  of  justice, 
naturally  inclines  the  heart  to  falsehood  or  to  hatred, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


6l 


was  entirely  banished  from  their  conversation  ; for  it 
is  impossible  not  to  .hate  men  if  we  believe  them  to 
be  wicked,  or  to  live  with  the  wicked  without  con- 
cealing that  hatred  under  a false  pretence  of  good 
feeling.  Slander  thus  puts  us  ill  at  ease  with  others 
and  with  ourselves.  In  this  little  circle,  therefore, 
the  conduct  of  individuals  was  not  discussed,  but  the 
best  manner  of  doing  good  to  all ; and  although  they 
had  but  little  in  their  power,  their  unceasing  good- 
will and  kindness  of  heart  made  them  constantly 
ready  to  do  what  they  could  for  others.  Solitude,  far 
from  having  blunted  these  benevolent  feelings,  had 
rendered  their  dispositions  even  more  kindly.  Al- 
though the  petty  scandals  of  the  day  furnished  no 
subject  of  conversation  to  them,  yet  the  contempla- 
tion of  nature  filled  their  minds  with  enthusiastic 
delight.  They  adored  the  bounty  of  that  Providence, 
which,  by  their  instrumentality,  had  spread  abun- 
dance and  beauty  amid  these  barren  rocks,  and  had 
enabled  them  to  enjoy  those  pure  and  simple  pleas- 
ures, which  are  ever  grateful  and  ever  new. 

Paul,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  was  stronger  and 
more  intelligent  than  most  European  youths  are  at 
fifteen ; and  the  plantations,  which  Domingo  merely 
cultivated,  were  all  embellished  by  him.  He  would 
go  with  the  old  negro  into  the  neighboring  woods, 
where  he  would  root  up  the  young  plants  of  lemon, 
orange,  and  tamarind  trees,  the  round  heads  of 
which  are  of  so  fresh  a green,  together  with  date- 
palm  trees,  which  produce  fruit  filled  with  a sweet 
cream,  possessing  the  fine  perfume  of  the  orange 
flower.  These  trees,  which  had  already  attained  to 


62 


PAUL  AND  V/RG/N/A. 


a considerable  size,  be  planted  round  their  little  en- 
closure. He  had  also  sown  the  .seeds  of  many  trees 
which  the  second  year  bear  flowers  or  fruit ; such  as 
the  agathis,  encircled  with  long  clusters  of  white 
flowers,  which  hang  from  it  like  the  crystal  pendants 
of  a chandelier ; the  Persian  lilac,  which  lifts  high  in 
air  its  gray  flax-colored  branches  ; the  papaw-tree, 
the  branchless  trunk  of  which  forms  a column 
studded  with  green  melons,  surmounted  by  a capital 
of  broad  leaves  similar  to  those  of  the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum-tree,  terminalia, 
mango,  alligator  pear,  the  guava,  the  bread-fruit 
tree,  and  the  narrow-leaved  rose-apple,  were  also 
planted  by  him  with  profusion  ; and  the  greater  num- 
ber of  these  trees  already  afforded  their  young  culti- 
vator both  shade  and  fruit.  His  industrious  hands 
diffused  the  riches  of  nature  over  even  the  most  bar- 
ren parts  of  the  plantation.  Several  species  of  aloes, 
the  Indian  fig,  adorned  with  yellow  flowers  spotted 
with  red,  and  the  thorny  torch-thistle,  grew  upon  the 
dark  summits  of  the  rocks,  and  seemed  to  aim  at 
reaching  the  long  lianas,  which,  laden  with  blue  or 
scarlet  flowers,  hung  scattered  over  the  steepest 
parts  of  the  mountain. 

I loved  to  trace  the  ingenuity  he  had  exercised  in 
the  arrangement  of  these  trees.  He  had  so  disposed 
them  that  the  whole  could  be  seen  at  a single  glance. 
In  the  middle  of  the  hollow  he  had  planted  shrubs 
of  the  lowest  growth  ; behind  grew  the  more  lofty 
sorts  ; then  trees  of  the  ordinary  height ; and  beyond 
and  above  all,  the  venerable  and  lofty  groves  which 
border  the  circumference.  Thus  this  extensive  on 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


63 


closure  appeared,  from  its  centre,  like  a verdant 
amphitheatre  decorated  with  fruits  and  flowers, 
containing  a variety  of  vegetables,  some  strips  of 
meadow-land,  and  fields  of  rice  and  corn.  But,  in 
arranging  these  vegetable  productions  to  his  own 
taste,  he  wandered  not  too  far  from  the  designs  of 
Nature.  Guided  by  her  suggestions,  he  had  thrown 
upon  the  elevated  spots  such  seeds  as  the  winds 
would  scatter  about,  and  near  the  borders  of  the 
springs  those  which  float  upon  the  water.  Every 
plant  thus  grew  in  its  proper  soil,  and  every  spot 
seemed  decorated  by  Nature’s  own  hand.  The 
streams  which  fell  from  the  summits  of  the  rocks 
formed  in  some  parts  of  the  valley  sparkling  cas- 
cades, and  in  others  were  spread  into  broad  mirrors, 
in  which  were  reflected,  set  in  verdure,  the  flower- 
ing trees,  the  overhanging  rocks,  and  the  azure 
heavens. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of  the 
ground,  these  plantations  were,  for  the  most  part, 
easy  of  access.  We  had,  indeed,  all  given  him  our 
advice  and  assistance,  in  order  to  accomplish  this 
end. 

He  had  conducted  one  path  entirely  round  the 
valley,  and  various  branches  from  it  led  from  the 
circumference  to  the  centre.  He  had  drawn  some 
advantage  from  the  most  rugged  spots,  and  had 
blended,  in  harmonious  union,  level  walks  with  the 
inequalities  of  the  soil,  and  trees  which  grow  wild 
with  the  cultivated  varieties. 

With  that  immense  quantity  of  large  pebbles  which 
now  block  up  these  paths,  and  which  are  scattered 


64 


PAUL  AND  F/PG/N/A- 


over  most  of  the  ground  of  this  island,  he  formed 
pyramidal  heaps  here  and  there,  at  the  base  of  which 
he  laid  mould,  and  planted  rose-bushes,  the  Barba- 
does  flower-fence,  and  other  shrubs,  which  love  to 
climb  the  rocks. 

In  a short  time  the  dark  and  shapeless  heaps  of 
stones  he  had  constructed  were  covered  with  verdure, 
or  with  the  glowing  tints  of  the  most  beautiful  flow- 
ers. Hollow  recesses  on  the  borders  of  the  streams, 
shaded  by  the  overhanging  boughs  of  aged  trees, 
formed  rural  grottos,  impervious  to  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
in  which  you  might  enjoy  a refreshing  coolness  during 
the  mid-day  heats.  One  path  led  to  a clump  of  for- 
est trees,  in  the  centre  of  which,  sheltered  from  the 
wind,  you  found  a fruit-tree,  laden  with  produce. 
Here  was  a corn-field  ; there,  an  orchard  : from  one 
avenue  you  had  a view  of  the  cottages  ; from  another, 
of  the  inaccessible  summit  of  the  mountain.  Beneath 
one  tufted  bower  of  gum-trees,  interwoven  with 
lianas,  no  object  whatever  could  be  perceived : while 
the  point  of  the  adjoining  rock,  jutting  out  from  the 
mountain,  commanded  a view  of  the  whole  enclo- 
sure, and  of  the  distant  ocean,  where,  occasionally, 
we  could  discern  the  distant  sail,  arriving  from 
Europe,  or  bound  thither. 

On  this  rock  the  two  families  frequently  met  in  the 
evening,  and  enjoyed  in  silence  the  freshness  of  the 
flowers,  the  gentle  murmurs  of  the  fountains,  and 
the  last  blended  harmonies  of  light  and  shade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the  names 
which  were  bestowed  upon  some  of  the  delightful 
retreats  of  this  labyrinth.  The  rock  of  which  I have 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


65 


6een  speaking,  whence  they  could  discern  my  ap- 
proach at  a considerable  distance,  was  called  the 
Discovery  of  Friendship.  Paul  and  Virginia  had 


amused  them- 
selves by  plant- 
ing a bamboo  on 
that  spot ; and 
whenever  they 
saw  me  coming, 
they  hoisted  a little  white  handkerchief 
by  way  of  signal  of  my  approach,  as  they 
had  seen  a flag  hoisted  on  the  neighbor- 
ing mountain  on  the  sight  of  a vessel  at 
sea.  The  idea  struck  me  of 
engraving  an  inscription  on 
the  stalk  of  this  reed ; for  I 
never,  in  the  course  of  my 
travels,  experienced  anything 
like  the  pleasure  in  seeing  a 
statue  or  other  monument  of 
ancient  art,  as  in  reading  a 
well-written  inscription.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  a human 
voice  issued  from  the  stone, 
and  making  itself  heard  after 
the  lapse  of  ages,  addressed 
man  in  the  midst  of  a desert, 
to  tell  him  that  he  is  not  alone,  and  that  other  men, 
on  that  very  spot,  had  felt,  and  thought,  and  suffered 
like  himself. 

If  the  inscription  belongs  to  an  ancient  nation, 
which  no  longer  exists,  it  leads  the  soul  through 


66 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


infinite  space,  and  strengthens  the  consciousness  of 
its  immortality,  by  demonstrating  that  a thought  has 
survived  the  ruins  of  an  empire. 

I inscribed  then,  on  the  little  staff  of  Paul  and 
Virginia’s  flag,  the  following  lines  of  Horace  : — 

. . . fratres  Helenae,  lucida  sidera, 

Ventoriimque  regat  pater, 

Obstrictis  aliis,  praeter  lapiga. 

“ May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  briglit  stars  like  you,  and 
the  Father  of  the  winds,  guide  you  ; and  may 
you  feel  only  the  breath  of  the  zephyr.” 

There  was  a gum-tree,  under  the  shade  of  which 
Paul  was  accustomed  to  sit  to  contemplate  the  sea 
when  agitated  by  storms. 

On  the  bark  of  this  tree  I engraved  the  following 
line  from  Virgil ; — 

Fortunatus  et  ille,  Deos  qui  novit  agrestes. 

“ Happy  art  thou,  my  son,  in  knowing  only  the 
pastoral  divinities.” 

And  over  the  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour’s  cot- 
tage, where  the  families  so  frequently  met,  I placed 
this  line  : — 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 

“ Here  dwell  a calm  conscience,  and  a life  that  knows 
not  deceit.” 

But  Virginia  did  not  approve  of  my  Latin : she 
said  that  what  I had  placed  at  the  foot  of  her  flag- 
staff was  too  long  and  learned. 

“ I should  have  liked  better,”  added  she,  “ to  have 
seen  inscribed,  ever  agitated,  yet  constant.”  — 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


67 


“ Such  a motto,'”  I answered,  “ would  have  been  still 
more  applicable  to  virtue.'”  My  reflection  made  her 
blush. 

The  delicacy  of  sentiment  of  these  happy  families 
was  manifested  in  everything  around  them.  They 
gave  the  tenderest  names  to  objects  in  appearance  the 
most  indifferent. 

A border  of  orange,  plantain,  and  rose-apple  trees, 
planted  round  a green-sward  where  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia sometimes  danced,  received  the  name  of  Con- 
cord. An  old  tree,  beneath  the  shade  of  which 
Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Margaret  used  to  recount 
their  misfortunes,  was  called  The  Burial-place  of 
Tears.  They  bestowed  the  names  of  Brittany  and 
Normandy  on  two  little  plots  of  ground,  where  they 
had  sown  corn,  strawberries,  and  pease. 

Domingo  and  Mary,  wishing,  in  imitation  of  their 
mistresses,  to  recall  to  mind  Angola  and  Foulle- 
pointe,  the  places  of  their  birth  in  Africa,  gave  those 
names  to  the  little  fields  where  the  grass  was  sown 
with  which  they  wove  their  baskets,  and  where  they 
had  planted  a calabash-tree. 

Thus,  by  cultivating  the  productions  of  their  re- 
spective climates,  these  exiled  families  cherished  the 
dear  illusions  which  bind  us  to  our  native  country, 
and  softened  their  regrets  in  a foreign  land.  Alas  ! 
I have  seen  these  trees,  these  fountains,  these  heaps 
of  stones,  which  are  now  so  com.pletely  overthrown 
— which  now,  like  the  desolated  plains  of  Greece, 
present  nothing  but  masses  of  ruin  and  affecting  re- 
membrances, all  but  called  into  life  by  the  many 
charming  appellations  thus  bestowed  upon  them ! 


68 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


sure  was  that  called  Virginia’s  Resting-place.  At  the 

foot  of  the  rock 
,,  ^ which  bore  the 
\v5  ^^X/i  ' name  of  The  Dis- 


^^|v>  coveryofFriend- 
shi 


ship  is  a small 
crevice,  whence 
issues  a foun- 
tain, forming, 
near  its  source. 


•.|4% 

a little  spot  of  marshy 
soil  in  the  middle  of  a 
field  of  rich  grass. 

At  the  time  of  Paul’s 
birth  I had  made  Mar- 
garet a present  of  an 
Indian  cocoa  which 
had  been  given  me, 
and  which  she  planted 
on  the  border  of  this 
fenny  ground,  in  order 
that  the  tree  might  one 
day  serve  to  mark  the 
epoch  of  her  son's 
birth.  Madame  de  la  Tour  planted  another  cocoa, 
with  the  same  view,  at  the  birth  of  Virginia.  These 
nuts  produced  two  cocoa-trees,  which  formed  the 
only  records  of  the  two  families  : one  was  called  Paul’s 
tree,  the  other,  Virginia’s.  Their  growth  was  in  the 
same  proportion  as  that  of  the  two  young  persons, 
not  exactly  equal ; but  they  rose,  at  the  end  of  twelve 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


69 


years,  above  the  roofs  of  the  cottages.  Already  their 
tender  stalks  were  interwoven,  and  clusters  of  young 
cocoas  hung  from  them  over  the  basin  of  the  foun- 
tain. With  the  exception  of  these  two  trees,  this 
nook  of  the  rock  was  left  as  it  had  been  decorated  by 
nature. 

On  its  embrowned  and  moist  sides  broad  plants  of 
maiden-hair  glistened  with  their  green  and  dark  stars  ; 
and  tufts  of  wave-leaved  hart’s-tongue,  suspended 
like  long  ribands  of  purpled  green,  floated  on  the 
wind.  Near  this  grew  a chain  of  the  Madagascar 
periwinkle,  the  flowers  of  which  resembled  the  red 
gillyflower;  and  the  long-podded  capsicum,  the  seed- 
vessels  of  which  are  of  the  color  of  blood,  and  more 
resplendent  than  coral.  Near  them,  the  herb  balm, 
with  its  heart-shaped  leaves,  and  the  sweet  basil, 
which  has  the  odor  of  the  clove,  exhaled  the  most 
delicious  perfumes.  From  the  precipitous  side  of 
the  mountain  hung  the  graceful  lianas,  like  floating 
draperies,  forming  magnificent  canopies  of  verdure  on 
the  face  of  the  rocks.  The  sea-birds,  allured  by  the 
stillness  of  these  retreats,  resorted  here  to  pass  the 
night. 

At  the  hour  of  sunset  we  could  perceive  the  cur- 
lew and  the  stint  skimming  along  the  seashore ; the 
frigate-bird  poised  high  in  air ; and  the  white  bird  of 
the  tropic,  which  abandons,  with  the  star  of  day,  the 
solitudes  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  Virginia  took  pleas- 
ure in  resting  herself  upon  the  border  of  this  foun- 
tain, decorated  with  wild  and  sublime  magnificence. 
She  often  went  thither  to  wash  the  linen  of  the  fam- 
ily beneath  the  shade  of  the  two  cocoa-trees,  and 


70 


PAUL  AND  VIP  GIN/ A. 


thither  too  she  sometimes  led  her  goats  to  graze. 
While  she  was  making  cheeses  of  their  milk,  she 
loved  to  see  them  browse  on  the  maiden-hair  fern 
which  clothed  the  steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and  hung 
suspended  by  one  of  its  cornices,  as  on  a pedestal. 
Paul,  observing  that  Virginia  was  fond  of  this  spot, 
brought  thither,  from  the  neighboring  forest,  a great 
variety  of  birds’  nests.  The  old  birds,  following 
their  young,  soon  established  themselves  in  this  new 
colony.  Virginia,  at  stated  times,  distributed  amongst 
them  grains  of  rice,  millet,  and  maize.  As  soon  as 
she  appeared,  the  whistling  blackbird,  the  amadavid 
bird,  whose  note  is  so  soft,  the  cardinal,  with  its 
flame-colored  plumage,  forsook  their  bushes  ; the  par- 
roquet,  green  as  an  emerald,  descended  from  the 
neighboring  fan-palms  ; the  partridge  ran  along  the 
grass : all  advanced  promiscuously  towards  her,  like 
a brood  of  chickens : and  she  and  Paul  found  an 
exhaustless  source  of  amusement  in  observing  their 
sports,  their  repasts,  and  their  loves. 

Amiable  children  ! thus  passed  your  earlier  days  in 
innocence,  and  in  obeying  the  impulses  of  kindness. 
How  many  times,  on  this  very  spot,  have  your 
mothers,  pressing  you  in  their  arms,  blessed  Heaven 
for  the  consolations  your  unfolding  virtues  prepared 
for  their  declining  years,  while  they  at  the  same  time 
enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you  begin  life 
under  the  happiest  auspices  ! How  many  times,  be- 
neath the  shade  of  those  rocks,  have  I partaken  with 
them  of  your  rural  repasts,  which  never  cost  any 
animal  its  life  ! Gourds  full  of  milk,  fresh  eggs, 
cakes  of  rice  served  up  on  plantain  leaves,  with  bas- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


n 


kets  of  mangoes,  oranges,  dates,  pomegranates,  pine- 
apples, furnished  a wholesome  repast,  the  most 


agreeable  to  the 
eye,  as  well  as 
delicious  to  the 
taste,  that  can 
possibly  be  im- 
agified. 

Like  the  re- 
past, the  con- 
versation was 
mild,  and  free 
from  everything 
having  a tenden- 
cy to  do  harm. 

Paul  often  talked 
of  the  labors  of 
the  day  and  of 
the  morrow.  He 
was  continually 
planning  some- 
thing for  the  accommodation  of  their  little  society. 
Here  he  discovered  that  the  paths  were  rugged,  there 
that  the  seats  were  uncomfortable : sometimes  the 
young  arbors  did  not  afford  sufficient  shade,  and 
Virginia  might  be  better  pleased  elsewhere. 

During  the  rainy  season  the  two  families  met 
together  in  the  cottage,  and  employed  themselves  in 
weaving  mats  of  grass,  and  baskets  of  bamboo. 
Rakes,  spades,  and  hatchets  were  ranged  along  the 
walls  in  the  most  perfect  order ; and  near  these  in- 
struments of  agriculture  were  heaped  its  products  — 


72 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


cane,  the  lemon,  and  the 
citron. 

When  night  came,  they  all  supped  together  by  the 
light  of  a lamp;  after  which  Madame  de  la  Tour 
or  Margaret  related  some  story  of  travellers  be- 
nighted  in  those  woods  of  Europe  that  are  still  in- 
fested by  banditti ; or  told  a dismal  tale  of  some 
shipwrecked  vessel,  thrown  by  the  tempest  upon  the 


bags  of  rice,  sheaves  of  corn,  and  baskets  of  plan- 
tains. Some  degree  of  luxury  usually  accompanies 
abundance  ; and  Vir- 
ginia was  taught  by 
her  mother  and  Mar- 
garet to  prepare  sher- 
bet and  cordials  from 
the  juice  of  the  sugar- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


73 


rocks  of  a desert  island.  To  these, recitals  the  chil- 
dren listened  with  eager  attention,  and  earnestly 
hoped  that  Heaven  would  one  day  grant  them  the 
joy  of  performing  the  rites  of  hospitality  towards 
such  unfortunate  persons. 

When  the  time  for  repose  arrived,  the  two  families 
separated  and  retired  for  the  night,  eager  to  meet 
again  the  following  morning.  Sometimes  they  were 
lulled  to  repose  by  the  beating  of  the  rains,  which 
fell  in  torrents  upon  the  roofs  of  their  cottages,  and 
sometimes  by  the  hollow  winds,  which  brought  to 
their  ear  the  distant  roar  of  the  waves  breaking  upon 
the  shore.  They  blessed  God  for  their  own  safety, 
the  feeling  of  which  was  brought  home  more  forcibly 
to  their  minds  by  the  sound  of  remote  danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read  aloud  some 
affecting  history  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament.  Her 
auditors  reasoned  but  little  upon  these  sacred  volumes, 
for  their  theology  centred  in  a feeling  of  devotion 
towards  the  Supreme  Being,  like  that  of  nature  ; and 
their  morality  was  an  active  principal,  like  that  of  the 
Gospel.  These  families  had  no  particular  days  de- 
voted to  pleasure,  and  others  to  sadness. 

Every  day  was  to  them  a holiday,  and  all  that  sur- 
rounded them  one  holy  temple,  in  which  they  ever 
adored  the  Infinite  Intelligence,  the  Almighty  God, 
the  friend  of  human  kind.  A feeling  of  confidence 
in  His  supreme  power  filled  their  minds  with  con- 
solation for  the  past,  with  fortitude  under  present 
trials,  and  with  hope  in  the  future.  Compelled  by 
misfortune  to  return  almost  to  a state  of  nature,  these 
excellent  women  had  thus  developed  in  their  own  and 


74 


PAUL  AND  VIP  GIN/ A. 


their  children’s  bosoms  tlie  feelings  most  natural  to 
the  human  mind,  and  its  best  support  under  affliction. 
But  as  clouds  sometimes  arise,  and  cast  a gloom 
over  the  best  regulated  tempers,  so  whenever  any 
member  of  this  little  society  appeared  to  be  laboring 


under  dejection,  the  rest  assembled  around,  and  en- 
deavored to  banish  her  painful  thoughts  by  amusing 
the  mind  rather  than  by  grave  arguments  against 
them.  Each  performed  this  kind  office  in  their 
own  appropriate  manner : Margaret,  by  her  gayety ; 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  by  the  gentle  consolations  of 
religion ; Virginia,  by  her  tender  caresses ; Paul,  by 
his  frank  and  engaging  cordiality.  Even  Mary  and 
Domingo  hastened  to  offer  their  succor,  and  to  weep 
with  those  that  wept.  Thus  do  weak  plants  inter- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


75 


weave  themselves  with  each  other,  in  order  to  with- 
stand the  fury  of  the  tempest. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every  Sunday  to 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  steeple  of 
which  you  see  yonder  upon  the  plain.  Many  wealthy 
members  of  the  congregation,  who  came  to  church 
in  palanquins,  sought  the  acquaintance  of  these 
united  families,  and  invited  them  to  parties  of  pleas- 
ure. But  they  always  repelled  these  overtures  with 
respectful  politeness,  as  they  were  persuaded  that  the 
rich  and  powerful  seek  the  society  of  persons  in  an 
inferior  station  only  for  the  sake  of  surrounding 
themselves  with  flatterers,  and  that  every  flatterer 
must  applaud  alike  all  the  actions  of  his  patron, 
whether  good  or  bad.  On  the  other  hand,  they 
avoided,  with  equal  care,  too  intimate  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  lower  class,  who  are  ordinarily  jealous, 
calumniating,  and  gross.  They  thus  acquired,  with 
some,  the  character  of  being  timid,  and  with  others, 
of  pride ; but  their  reserve  was  accompanied  with  so 
much  obliging  politeness,  above  all  towards  the  un- 
fortunate and  the  unhappy,  that  they  insensibly 
acquired  the  respect  of  the  rich  and  the  confidence 
of  the  poor. 

After  service,  some  kind  office  was  often  required 
at  their  hands  by  their  poor  neighbors. 

Sometimes  a person  troubled  in  mind  sought  their 
advice ; sometimes  a child  begged  them  to  visit  its 
sick  mother,  in  one  of  the  adjoining  hamlets.  They 
always  took  with  them  a few  remedies  for  the  ordi- 
nary diseases  of  the  country,  which  they  administered 
in  that  soothing  manner  which  stamps  a value  upon 


76 


PAC/L  AND  VIPG/N/A. 


the  smallest  favors.  Above  all,  they  met  with  singu- 
lar success  in  administering  to  the  disorders  of  the 
mind,  so  intolerable  in  solitude,  and  under  the  infirm- 
ities of  a weakened 
frame.  Madame  de 
la  Tour  spoke  with 
such  sublime  con- 
fidence of  the  Divin- 
ity, that  the  sick, 
while  listening  to 
her,  almost  believed 
Him  present. 

Virginia  often  re- 


turned home  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  her  heart 
overflowing  with  delight,  at  having  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  doing  good ; for  to  her  generally  was  con- 
fided the  task  of  preparing  and  administering  the 
medicines,  — a task  which  she  fulfilled  with  angelio 


sweetness. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA  DANCING. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


77 


After  these  visits  of  charity,  they  sometimes  ex- 
tended their  walk  by  the  Sloping  Mountain,  till  they 
reached  my  dwelling,  where  I used  to  prepare  dinner 
for  them  on  the  banks  of  the  little  rivulet  which 
glides  near  my  cottage.  I procured  for  these  occa- 
sions a few  bottles  of  old  wine,  in  order  to  heighten 
the  relish  of  our  Oriental  repast  by  the  more  genial 
productions  of  Europe.  At  other  times  we  met  on 
the  seashore,  at  the  mouth  of  some  little  river,  or 
rather  mere  brook.  We  brought  from  home  the 
provisions  furnished  us  by  our  gardens,  to  which  we 
added  those  supplied  us  by  the  sea  in  abunda:.  t 
variety. 

We  caught  on  these  shores  the  mullet,  the  roach, 
and  the  sea-urchin,  lobsters,  shrimps,  crabs,  oysters, 
and  all  other  kinds  of  shell-fish.  In  this  way  we  often 
enjoyed  the  most  tranquil  pleasures  in  situations  the 
most  terrific.  Sometimes,  seated  upon  a rock  under 
the  shade  of  the  velvet  sun-flower  tree,  we  saw  the 
enormous  waves  of  the  Indian  Ocean  break  beneath 
our  feet  with  a tremendous  noise.  Paul,  who  could 
swim  like  a fish,  would  advance  on  the  reefs  to  meet 
the  coming  billows  ; then,  at  their  near  approach, 
would  run  back  to  the  beach,  closely  pursued  by  the 
foaming  breakers,  which  threw  themselves,  with  a 
roaring  noise,  far  on  the  sands.  But  Virginia,  at 
this  sight,  uttered  piercing  cries,  and  said  that  such 
sports  frightened  her  too  much. 

Other  amusements  were  not  wanting  on  these 
festive  occasions.  Our  repasts  were  generally  fol- 
lowed by  the  songs  and  dances  of  the  two  young 
people.  Virginia  sang  the  happiness  of  pastoral  life, 


78 


PAUL  AND  VIRG/NIA. 


and  the  misery  of  those  who  were  impelled  by  avarice 
to  cross  the  raging  ocean,  rather  than  cultivate  the 
earth,  and  enjoy  its  bounties  in  peace.  Sometimes 


she  performed  a pantomime  with  Paul,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  negroes. 

The  first  language  of  man  is  pantomime : it  is 
known  to  all  nations,  and  is  so  natural  and  expres- 
sive, that  the  children  of  the  European  inhabitants 
catch  it  with  facility  from  the  negroes.  Virginia, 
recalling,  from  among  the  histories  which  her  mother 
had  read  to  her,  those  which  had  affected  her  most, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


79 


represented  the  principal  events  in  them  with  beauti- 
ful simplicity.  Sometimes  at  the  sound  of  Domingo’s 
tamtam  she  appeared  upon  the  greensward,  bearing 
a pitcher  upon  her  head,  and  advanced  with  a timid 
step  towards  the  source  of  a neighboring  fountain,  to 
draw  water.  Domingo  and  Mary,  personating  the 
shepherds  of  Midian,  forbade  her  to  approach,  and 
repulsed  her  sternly.  Upon  this  Paul  flew  to  her 
succor,  beat  away  the  shepherds,  filled  Virginia’s 
pitcher,  and  placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound  her 
brows  at  the  same  time  with  a wreath  of  the  red 
flowers  of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  which  served 
to  heighten  the  delicacy  of  her  complexion.  Then, 
joining  in  their  sports,  I took  upon  myself  the  part 
of  Raguel,  and  bestowed  upon  Paul  my  daughter 
Zephora  in  marriage. 

Another  time  Virginia  would  represent  the  unhappy 
Ruth,  returning  poor  and  widowed  with  her  mother- 
in-law,  who,  after  so  prolonged  an  absence,  found 
herself  as  unknown  as  in  a foreign  land.  Domingo 
and  Mary  personated  the  reapers.  The  supposed 
daughter  of  Naomi  followed  their  steps,  gleaning 
here  and  there  a few  ears  of  corn. 

When  interrogated  by  Paul,  — a part  which  he 
performed  with  the  gravity  of  a patriarch,  — she 
answered  his  questions  with  a faltering  voice.  He 
then,  touched  with  compassion,  granted  an  asylum 
to  innocence,  and  hospitality  to  misfortune.  He 
filled  her  lap  with  plenty ; and,  leading  her  towards 
us  as  before  the  elders  of  the  city,  declared  his  pur- 
pose to  take  her  in  marriage.  At  this  scene,  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  recalling  the  desolate  situation  in  which 


8o 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


she  had  been  left  by  her  relations,  her  widowhood, 
and  the  kind  reception  she  had  met  with  from 
Margaret,  succeeded  now  by  the  soothing  hope  of  a 
happy  union  between  their  children,  could  not  for- 
bear weeping  ; and  these  mixed  recollections  of  good 
and  evil  caused  us  all  to  unite  with  her  in  shedding 
tears  of  sorrow  and  of  joy. 

These  dramas  were  performed  with  such  an  air  of 
reality,  that  you  might  have  fancied  yourself  trans- 
ported to  the  plains  of  Syria  or  of  Palestine.  We 
were  not  unfurnished  with  decorations,  lights,  or  an 
orchestra,  suitable  to  the  representation.  The  scene 
was  generally  placed  in  an  open  space  of  the  forest, 
the  diverging  paths  from  which  formed  around  us 
numerous  arcades  of  foliage,  under  which  we  were 
sheltered  from  the  heat  all  the  middle  of  the  day ; 
but  when  the  sun  descended  towards  the  horizon,  its 
rays,  broken  by  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  darted  amongst 
the  shadows  of  the  forest  in  long  lines  of  light,  pro- 
ducing the  most  magnificent  effect.  Sometimes  its 
broad  disk  appeared  at  the  end  of  an  avenue,  lighting 
it  up  with  insufferable  brightness.  The  foliage  of  the 
trees,  illuminated  from  beneath  by  its  saffron  beams, 
glowed  with  the  lustre  of  the  topaz  and  the  emerald. 
Their  brown  and  mossy  trunks  appeared  transformed 
into  columns  of  antique  bronze ; and  the  birds  which 
had  retired  in  silence  to  their  leafy  shades  to  pass  the 
night,  surprised  to  see  the  radiance  of  a second 
morning,  hailed  the  star  of  day  all  together  with 
innumerable  carols. 

Night  often  overtook  us  during  these  rural  enter- 
tainments ; but  the  purity  of  the  air,  and  the  warmth 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Si 


of  the  climate,  admitted  of  our  sleeping  in  the 
woods,  without  incurring  any  danger  by  exposure  to 
the  weather,  and  no  less  secure  from  the  molestation 
of  robbers.  On  our  return  the  following  day  to  our 
respective  habitations,  we  found  them  in  exactly  the 
same  state  in  which  they  had  been  left.  In  this 
island,  then  unsophisticated  by  the  pursuits  of  com- 
merce, such  were  the  honesty  and  primitive  manners 
of  the  population,  that  the  doors  of  many  houses 
were  without  a key,  and  even  a lock  itself  was  an 
object  of  curiosity  to  not  a few  of  the  native  inhab- 
itants. 

There  were,  however,  some  days  in  the  year  cele- 
brated by  Paul  and  Virginia  in  a more  peculiar  man- 
ner: these  were  the  birthdays  of  their  mothers. 
Virginia  never  failed  the  day  before  to  prepare  some 
wheaten  cakes,  which  she  distributed  among  a few 
poor  white  families,  born  in  the  island,  who  had 
never  eaten  European  bread.  These  unfortunate 
people,  uncared  for  by  the  blacks,  were  reduced  to 
live  on  tapioca  in  the  woods  ; and  as  they  had  neither 
the  insensibility  which  is  the  result  of  slavery,  nor 
the  fortitude  which  springs  from  a liberal  education, 
to  enable  them  to  support  their  poverty,  their  situa- 
tion was  deplorable. 

These  cakes  were  all  that  Virginia  had  it  in  her 
power  to  give  away ; but  she  conferred  the  gift  in  so 
delicate  a manner  as  to  add  tenfold  to  its  value.  In 
the  first  place,  Paul  was  commissioned  to  take  the 
cakes  himself  to  these  families,  and  get  their  promise 
to  come  and  spend  the  next  day  at  Madame  de  la 
TouPs.  Accordingly,  mothers  of  families,  with  two 


82 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


or  three  thin,  yellow,  miserable-looking  daughters, 
so  timid  that  they  dared  not  look  up,  made  their 
appearance.  Virginia  soon  put  them  at  their  ease  : 
she  waited  upon  them  with  refreshments,  the  excel- 
lence of  which  she  endeavored  to  heighten  by  relat- 
ing some  particular  circumstance  which,  in  her  own 
estimation,  vastly  improved  them.  One  beverage 
had  been  prepared  by  Margaret ; another,  by  her 
mother : her  brother  himself  had  climbed  some 
lofty  tree  for  the  very  fruit  she  was  presenting.  She 
would  then  get  Paul  to  dance  with  them,  nor  would 
she  leave  them  till  she  saw  that  they  were  happy. 
She  wished  them  to  partake  of  the  joy  of  her  own 
family.  “ It  is  only,”  she  said,  “ by  promoting  the 
happiness  of  others  that  we  can  secure  our  own.” 

When  they  left,  she  generally  presented  them  with 
some  little  article  they  seemed  to  fancy,  enforcing 
their  acceptance  of  it  by  some  delicate  pretext,  that 
she  might  not  appear  to  know  they  were  in  want.  If 
she  remarked  that  their  clothes  were  much  tattered, 
she  obtained  her  mother's  permission  to  give  them 
some  of  her  own,  and  then  sent  Paul  to  leave  them 
secretly  at  their  cottage  doors.  She  thus  followed 
the  divine  precept,  — concealing  the  benefactor,  and 
revealing  only  the  benefit. 

You  Europeans,  whose  minds  are  imbued  from 
infancy  with  prejudices  at  variance  with  happiness, 
cannot  imagine  all  the  instruction  and  pleasure  to  be 
derived  from  nature.  Your  souls,  confined  to  a small 
sphere  of  intelligence,  soon  reach  the  limit  of  its 
artificial  enjoyments  ; but  nature  and  the  heart  are 
inexhaustible.  Paul  and  Virginia  had  neither  clock, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


83 


nor  almanac,  nor  books  of  chronology,  history,  or 
philosophy.  The  periods  of  their  lives  were  regu- 
lated by  those  of  the  operations  of  nature,  and  their 
familiar  conversation  had  a constant  reference  to  the 
changes  of  the  seasons.  They  knew  the  time  of  day 
by  the  shadows  of  the  trees ; the  seasons,  by  the 
times  when  those  trees  bore  flowers  or  fruit ; and 
the  years,  by  the  number  of  their  harvests.  These 
soothing  images  diffused  an  inexpressible  charm  over 
their  conversation.  “ It  is  time  to  dine,”  said  Vir- 
ginia, “ the  shadows  of  the  plantain-trees  are  at  their 
roots;”  or,  “Night  approaches;  the  tamarinds  are 
closing  their  leaves.”  — “When  will  you  come  and 
see  us?”  inquired  some  of  her  companions  in  the 
neighborhood.  “At  the  time  of  the  sugar-canes,” 
answered  Virginia.  “Your  visit  will  be  then  still 
more  delightful,”  resumed  her  young  acquaintances. 
When  she  was  asked  what  was  her  own  age,  and  that 
of  Paul,  — “ My  brother,”  said  she,  “is  as  old  as  the 
great  cocoa-tree  of  the  fountain  ; and  I am  as  old  as 
the  little  one  : the  mangoes  have  borne  fruit  twelve 
times,  and  the  orange-trees  have  flowered  four  and 
twenty  times,  since  I came  into  the  world.” 

Their  lives  seemed  linked  to  that  of  the  trees,  like 
those  of  Fauns  or  Dryads.  They  knew  no  other 
historical  epochs  than  those  of  the  lives  of  their 
mothers,  no  other  chronology  than  that  of  their 
orchards,  and  no  other  philosophy  than  that  of 
doing  good,  and  resigning  themselves  to  the  will 
of  Heaven. 

What  need,  indeed,  had  these  young  people  of 
riches  or  learning  such  as  ours?  Even  their  necessi- 


84 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


ties  and  their  ignorance  increased  their  happiness. 
No  day  passed  in  which  they  were  not  of  some  ser- 
vice to  one  anotlier,  or  in  which  they  did  not  mutually 
impart  some  instruction.  Yes,  instruction;  for  if 
errors  mingled  with  it,  they  were,  at  least,  not  of  a 
dangerous  character.  A pure-minded  being  has 
none  of  that  description  to  fear.  Thus  grew  these 
children  of  nature.  No  care  had  troubled  their 
peace,  no  intemperance  had  corrupted  their  blood, 
no  misplaced  passion  had  depraved  their  hearts. 
Love,  innocence,  and  piety  possessed  their  souls ; 
and  those  intellectual  graces  were  unfolding  daily  in 
their  features,  their  attitudes,  and  their  movements. 
Still  in  the  morning  of  life,  they  had  all  its  blooming 
freshness  ; and  surely  such  in  the  Garden  of  Eden 
appeared  our  first  parents,  when,  coming  from  the 
hands  of  God,  they  first  saw  and  approached  each 
other,  and  conversed  together,  like  brother  and  sis- 
ter. Virginia  was  gentle,  modest,  and  confiding  as 
Eve  ; and  Paul,  like  Adam,  united  the  stature  of  man- 
hood with  the  simplicity  of  a child. 

Sometimes,  if  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has  a thou- 
sand times  told  me,  he  used  to  say  to  her,  on  his 
return  from  labor,  — “ When  I am  wearied,  the  sight 
of  you  refreshes  me.  If  from  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  I perceive  you  below  in  the  valley,  you 
appear  to  me  in  the  midst  of  our  orchard  like  a 
blooming  rosebud.  If  you  go  towards  our  mother’s 
house,  the  partridge,  when  it  runs  to  meet  its  young, 
has  a shape  less  beautiful,  and  a step  less  light. 
When  1 lose  sight  of  you  through  the  trees,  I have 
no  need  to  see  you  in  order  to  find  you  again. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


35 


Something  of  you,  I know  not  how,  remains  for  me 
in  the  air  through  which  you  have  passed,  — on  the 
grass  whereon  you  have  been  seated. 

“ When  I come  near  you,  you  delight  all  my 
senses.  The  azure  of  the  sky  is  less  charming  than 
the  blue  of  your  eyes,  and  the  song  of  the  amadavid 
bird  less  soft  than  the  sound  of  your  voice.  If  I 
only  touch  you  with  the  tip  of  my  finger,  my  whole 
frame  trembles  with  pleasure.  Do  you  remember  the 
day  when  we  crossed  over  the  great  stones  of  the 
river  of  the  Three  Breasts?  I was  very  tired  before 
we  reached  the  bank  : but  as  soon  as  I had  taken 
you  in  my  arms,  I seemed  to  have  wings  like  a bird. 
Tell  me  by  what  charm  you  have  thus  enchanted 
me?  Is  it  by  your  wisdom?  — Our  mothers  have 
more  than  either  of  us.  Is  it  by  your  caresses?^ 
They  embrace  me  much  oftener  than  you.  I think  it 
must  be  by  your  goodness.  I shall  never  forget  how 
you  walked  barefooted  to  the  Black  River,  to  ask 
pardon  for  the  poor  runaway  slave.  Here,  my  be- 
loved, take  this  flowering  branch  of  a lemon-tree, 
which  I have  gathered  in  the  forest : you  will  let  it 
remain  at  night  near  your  bed.  Eat  this  honeycomb 
too  which  I have  taken  for  you  from  the  top  of  a 
rock.  But  first  lean  on  my  bosom,  and  I shall  be 
refreshed.” 

Virginia  would  answer  him, — “Oh,  my  dear 
brother,  the  rays  of  the  sun  in  the  morning  on  the  tops 
of  the  rocks  give  me  less  joy  than  the  sight  of  you.  I 
love  my  mother,  — I love  yours ; but  when  they  call 
you  their  son,  I love  them  a thousand  times  more. 
When  they  caress  you,  I feel  it  more  sensibly  than 


86 


PAUL  AND  V/PG/N/A. 


when  I am  caressed  myself.  You  ask  me  what  makes 
you  love  me.  Why,  all  creatures  that  are  brought  up 
together  love  one  another.  Look  at  our  birds  : reared 

up  in  the  same  nests, 
they  love  each  other 
as  we  do ; they  are 
always  together  like 
us.  Hark  ! how  they 
call  and  answer  from 
one  tree  to  another ! 

“ So  when  the 
echoes  bring  to  my 
ears  the  air  which 
you  play  on  your  flute 
on  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  1 repeat 
the  words  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley. 
You  are  dear  to  me 
more  especially  since 
the  day  when  you 
wanted  to  fight  the 
master  of  the  slave 
for  me.  Since  that 
time  how  often  have 
1 said  to  myself, 

‘ Ah,  my  brother  has 
a good  heart ; but  for  him  I should  have  died  of 
terror.’  I pray  to  God  every  day  for  my  mother  and 
for  yours  ; for  you,  and  for  our  poor  servants  : but 
when  I pronounce  your  name,  my  devotion  seems  to 
increase;  — I ask  so  earnestly  of  God  that  no  harm 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


87 


may  befall  you ! Why  do  you  go  so  far,  and  climb 
so  high,  to  seek  fruits  and  flowers  for  me?  Have 
we  not  enough  in  our  garden  already?  How  much 
you  are  fatigued,  — you  look  so  warm  ! ” — and  with 
her  little  white  handkerchief  she  would  wipe  the 
damps  from  his  face,  and  then  imprint  a tender 
kiss  on  his  forehead. 

For  some  time  past,  however,  Virginia  had  felt  her 
heart  agitated  by  new  sensations.  Her  beautiful 
blue  eyes  lost  their  lustre,  her  cheek  its  freshness, 
and  her  frame  was  overpowered  with  a universal 
languor.  Serenity  no  longer  sat  upon  her  brow,  nor 
smiles  played  upon  her  lips.  She  would  become  all 
at  once  gay  without  cause  for  joy,  and  melancholy 
without  any  subject  for  grief.  She  fled  her  innocent 
amusements,  her  gentle  toils,  and  even  the  society  of 
her  beloved  family  ; wandering  about  the  most  unfre- 
quented parts  of  the  plantations,  and  seeking  every- 
where the  rest  which  she  could  nowhere  find. 

Sometimes,  at  the  sight  of  Paul,  she  advanced  sport- 
ively to  meet  him ; but,  when  about  to  accost  him, 
was  overcome  by  a sudden  confusion  ; her  pale  cheeks 
were  covered  with  blushes,  and  her  eyes  no  longer 
dared  to  meet  those  of  her  brother.  Paul  said  to 
her, — “The  rocks  are  covered  with  verdure,  our 
birds  begin  to  sing  when  you  approach,  everything 
around  you  is  gay,  and  you  only  are  unhappy.”  He 
then  endeavored  to  soothe  her  by  his  embraces ; but 
she  turned  away  her  head,  and  fled,  trembling, 
towards  her  mother.  The  caresses  of  her  brother 
excited  too  much  emotion  in  her  agitated  heart,  and 
she  sought  in  the  arms  of  her  mother,  refuge  from 


88 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


herself.  Paul,  unused  to  the  secret  windings  of  the 
female  heart,  vexed  himself  in  vain  in  endeavoring 
to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  these  new  and  strange 
caprices.  Misfortunes  seldom  come  alone,  and  a 
serious  calamity  now  impended  over  these  families. 

One  of  those  summers  which  sometimes  desolate 
the  countries  situated  between  the  tropics,  now  be- 
gan to  spread  its  ravages  over  this  island.  It  was 
near  the  end  of  December,  when  the  sun,  in  Capri- 
corn, darts  over  the  Mauritius,  during  the  space  of 
three  weeks,  its  vertical  fires. 

The  south-east  wind,  which  prevails  throughout 
almost  the  whole  year,  no  longer  blew.  Vast  col- 
umns of  dust  arose  from  the  highways,  and  hung 
suspended  in  the  air ; the  ground  was  everywhere 
broken  into  clefts  ; the  grass  was  burnt  up ; hot  ex- 
halations issued  from  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and 
their  rivulets,  for  the  most  part,  became  dry.  No 
refreshing  cloud  ever  arose  from  the  sea  : fiery  vapors 
only,  during  the  day,  ascended  from  the  plains,  and 
appeared,  at  sunset,  like  the  reflection  of  a vast  con- 
flagration Night  brought  no  coolness  to  the  heated 
atmosphere  ; and  the  red  moon,  rising  in  the  misty 
horizon,  appeared  of  supernatural  magnitude.  The 
drooping  cattle,  on  the  sides  of  the  hills,  stretching 
out  their  necks  towards  heaven,  and  panting  for 
breath,  made  the  valleys  re-echo  with  their  melan- 
choly lowings : even  the  Cafifre  by  whom  they  were 
led  threw  himself  upon  the  earth,  in  search  of  some 
cooling  moisture : but  his  hopes  were  vain ; the 
scorching  sun  had  penetrated  the  whole  soil,  and  the 
stifling  atmosphere  everywhere  resounded  with  the 


VIRGINIA  ESCAPING  FROM  PAUL. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  89 

buzzing  noise  of  insects,  seeking  to  allay  their  thirst 
with  the  blood  of  men  and  of  animals. 

During  this  sultry  season,  Virginia’s  restlessness 
and  disquietude  were  much  increased.  One  night 
in  particular,  being  unable  to  sleep,  she  arose  from 
her  bed,  sat  down,  and  returned  to  rest  again  ; but 
could  find  in  no  attitude  either  slumber  or  repose. 
At  length  she  bent  her  way,  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
towards  her  fountain,  and  gazed  at  its  spring,  which, 
notwithstanding  the  drought,  still  trickled  in  silver 
threads  down  the  brown  sides  of  the  rock.  She  flung 
herself  into  the  basin  : its  coolness  reanimated  her 
spirits,  and  a thousand  soothing  remembrances  came 
to  her  mind.  She  recollected  that  in  her  infancy  her 
mother  and  Margaret  had  amused  themselves  by 
bathing  her  with  Paul  in  this  very  spot ; that  he 
afterwards,  reserving  this  bath  for  her  sole  use,  had 
hollowed  out  its  bed,  covered  the  bottom  with 
sand,  and  sown  aromatic  herbs  around  its  borders. 
She  saw  in  the  water,  upon  her  naked  arms  and 
bosom,  the  reflection  of  the  two  cocoa-trees  which 
were  planted  at  her  own  and  her  brother’s  birth,  and 
which  interwove  above  her  head  their  green  branches 
and  young  fruit.  She  thought  of  Paul’s  friendship, 
sweeter  than  the  odor  of  the  blossoms,  purer  than 
the  waters  of  the  fountain,  stronger  than  the  inter- 
twining palm-trees,  and  she  sighed.  Reflecting  on 
the  hour  of  the  night,  and  the  profound  solitude,  her 
imagination  became  disturbed.  Suddenly  she  flew, 
affrighted,  from  those  dangerous  shades,  and  those 
waters  which  seemed  to  her  hotter  than  the  tropical 
sunbeam,  and  ran  to  her  mother  for  refuge.  More 


90 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


than  once,  wishing  to  reveal  her  sufferings,  she 
pressed  her  mother’s  hand  within  her  own  ; more  than 
once  she  was  ready  to  pronounce  the  name  of  Paul : 
but  her  oppressed  heart  left  her  lips  no  power  of 
utterance,  and,  leaning  her  head  on  her  mother’s 
bosom,  she  bathed  it  with  her  tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  though  she  easily  discerned 
the  source  of  her  daughter’s  uneasiness,  did  not 
think  proper  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject.  “ My 
dear  child,”  said  she,  “ offer  up  your  supplications  to 
God,  who  disposes  at  His  will  of  health  and  of  life. 
He  subjects  you  to  trial  now,  in  order  to  recompense 
you  hereafter.  Remember  that  we  are  only  placed 
upon  earth  for  the  exercise  of  virtue.” 

The  excessive  heat  in  the  mean  time  raised  vast 
masses  of  vapor  from  the  ocean,  which  hung  over 
the  island  like  an  immense  parasol,  and  gathered 
round  the  summits  of  the  mountains.  Long  flakes 
of  fire  issued  from  time  to  time  from  these  mist- 
embosomed  peaks.  The  most  awful  thunder  soon 
after  re-echoed  through  the  woods,  the  plains,  and 
the  valleys  : the  rains  fell  from  the  skies  in  cataracts  ; 
foaming  torrents  rushed  down  the  sides  of  this  moun- 
tain ; the  bottom  of  the  valley  became  a sea,  and  the 
elevated  platform  on  which  the  cottages  were  built, 
a little  island.  The  accumulated  waters,  having  no 
other  outlet,  rushed  with  violence  through  the  narrow 
gorge  which  leads  into  the  valley,  tossing  and  roar- 
ing, and  bearing  along  with  them  a mingled  wreck 
of  soil,  trees,  and  rocks. 

The  trembling  families  meantime  addressed  their 
prayers  to  God  all  together  in  the  cottage  of  Madame 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


91 


de  la  Tour,  the  roof  of  which  cracked  fearfully  from 
the  force  of  the  winds.  So  incessant  and  vivid  were 
the  lightnings,  that  although  the  doors  and  window- 
shutters  were  securely  fastened,  every  object  without 
could  be  distinctly  seen  through  the  joints  in  the 
wood-work!  Paul,  followed  by  Domingo,  went  with 
intrepidity  from  one  cottage  to  another,  notwith- 
standing the  fury  of  the  tempest ; here  supporting  a 
partition  with  a buttress,  there  driving  in  a stake ; 
and  only  returning  to  the  family  to  calm  their  fears, 
by  the  expression  of  a hope  that  the  storm  was  passing 
away.  Accordingly,  in  the  evening  the  rains  ceased, 
the  trade-winds  of  the  south-east  pursued  their  or- 
dinary course,  the  tempestuous  clouds  were  driven 
away  to  the  northward,  and  the  setting  sun  appeared 
in  the  horizon. 

Virginia’s  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot  called  her 
Resting-place.  Paul  approached  her  with  a timid  air, 
and  offered  her  the  assistance  of  his  arm  : she  accepted 
it  with  a smile,  and  they  left  the  cottage  together. 
The  air  was  clear  and  fresh  : white  vapors  arose  from 
the  ridges  of  the  mountain,  which  was  furrowed  here 
and  there  by  the  courses  of  torrents,  marked  in  foam, 
and  now  beginning  to  dry  up  on  all  sides.  As  for 
the  garden,  it  was  completely  torn  to  pieces  by  deep 
water-courses,  the  roots  of  most  of  the  fruit  trees 
were  laid  bare,  and  vast  heaps  of  sand  covered  the 
borders  of  the  meadows,  and  had  choked  up  Vir- 
ginia’s bath.  The  two  cocoa-trees,  however,  were 
still  erect,  and  still  retained  their  freshness  : but  they 
were  no  longer  surrounded  by  turf,  or  arbors,  or 
birds,  except  a few  amadavid  birds,  which,  upon  the 


92 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


points  of  the  neighboring  rocks,  were  lamenting,  in 
plaintive  notes,  the  loss  of  their  young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation,  Virginia 
exclaimed  to  Paul,  “You  brought  birds  hither,  and 
the  hurricane  has  killed  them.  You  planted  this 
garden,  and  it  is  now  destroyed.  Everything  then 
upon  earth  perishes,  and  it  is  only  Heaven  that  is  not 
subject  to  change.” — “ Why,”  answered  Paul,  “ can- 
not I give  you  something  that  belongs  to  Heaven? 
but  I have  nothing  of  my  own,  even  upon  the  earth.” 
Virginia  with  a blush  replied,  “You  have  the  picture 
of  Saint  Paul.” 

As  soon  as  she  had  uttered  the  words,  he  flew  in 
quest  of  it  to  his  mother’s  cottage.  This  picture  was 
a miniature  of  Paul  the  Hermit,  which  Margaret, 
who  viewed  it  with  feelings  of  great  devotion,  had 
worn  at  her  neck  while  a girl,  and  which,  after  she 
became  a mother,  she  had  placed  round  her  child’s. 
It  had  even  happened,  that  being,  while  pregnant, 
abandoned  by  all  the  world,  and  continually  occupied 
in  contemplating  the  image  of  this  benevolent  recluse, 
her  offspring  had  contracted  some  resemblance  to 
this  revered  object.  She  therefore  bestowed  upon 
him  the  name  of  Paul,  giving  him  for  his  patron  a 
saint  who  had  passed  his  life  far  from  mankind,  by 
whom  he  had  been  first  deceived,  and  then  forsaken. 
Virginia,  on  receiving  this  little  present  from  the 
hands  of  Paul,  said  to  him,  with  emotion,  — “My 
dear  brother,  I will  never  part  with  this  while  I live ; 
nor  will  I ever  forget  that  you  have  given  me  the 
only  thing  you  have  in  the  world.”  At  this  tone  of 
friendship,  — this  unhoped-for  return  of  familiarity 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


93 


and  tenderness,  Paul  attempted  to  embrace  her,  but, 
light  as  a bird,  she  escaped  him,  and  fled  away, 
leaving  him  astonished,  and  unable  to  account  for 
conduct  so  extraordinary. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
— “ Why  do  we  not  unite  our  children  by  marriage? 


They  have  a strong 
attachment  for  each 
other,  and  though 
my  son  hardly  un- 
derstands the  real 
nature  of  his  feel- 
ings, yet  great  care 
and  watchfulness 
will  be  necessary. 
Under  such  circum- 
stances it  will  be  as 
well  not  to  leave 
them  too  much  to- 
gether.” Madame 
de  la  Tour  replied, 
— “They  are  too 
young  and  too  poor. 
What  grief  would  it  occasion  us  to  see  Virginia 
bring  into  the  world  unfortunate  children  whom 
she  would  not  perhaps  have  sufficient  strength  to 


94 


PACTL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


rear ! Your  negro,  Domingo,  is  almost  too  old 
to  labor;  Mary  is  infirm.  As  for  myself,  my 
dear  friend,  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years  I find  my 
strength  greatly  decreased ; the  feebleness  of  age 
advances  rapidly  in  hot  climates,  and,  above  all, 
under  the  pressure  of  misfortune.  Paul  is  our  only 
hope  : let  us  wait  till  he  comes  to  maturity,  and  his 
increased  strength  enables  him  to  support  us  by  his 
labor : at  present  you  well  know  that  we  have  only 
sufficient  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  day : but  were 
we  to  send  Paul  for  a short  time  to  the  Indies,  he 
might  acquire,  by  commerce,  the  means  of  purchas- 
ing some  slaves ; and  at  his  return  we  could  unite 
him  to  Virginia ; for  I am  persuaded  no  one  on  earth 
would  render  her  so  happy  as  your  son.  We  will 
consult  our  neighbor  on  this  subject.” 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  which  was  in 
accordance  with  Madame  de  la  Tour’s  opinion. 
“The  Indian  seas,”  I observed  to  them,  “are  calm, 
and,  in  choosing  a favorable  time  of  the  year,  the 
voyage  out  is  seldom  longer  than  six  weeks ; and 
the  same  time  may  be  allowed  for  the  return  home. 
We  will  furnish  Paul  with  a little  venture  from  my 
neighborhood,  where  he  is  much  beloved.  If  we 
were  only  to  supply  him  with  some  raw  cotton,  of 
which  we  make  no  use  for  want  of  mills  to  work  it, 
some  ebony,  which  is  here  so  common  that  it  serves 
us  for  firing,  and  some  rosin,  which  is  found  in  our 
woods,  he  would  be  able  to  sell  those  articles,  though 
useless  here,  to  good  advantage  in  the  Indies.”  I 
took  upon  myself  to  obtain  permission  from  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Bourdonnais  to  undertake  this  voyage ; 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


95 


and  I determined  previously  to  mention  the  affair  to 
Paul.  But  what  was  my  surprise,  when  this  young 
man  said  to  me,  with  a degree  of  good  sense  above 
his  age,  “ And  why  do  you  wish  me  to  leave  my  fam- 
ily for  this  precarious  pursuit  of  Fortune?  Is  there 
any  commerce  in  the  world  more  advantageous  than 
the  culture  of  the  ground,  which  yields  sometimes 
fifty  or  a hundred  fold?  If  we  wish  to  engage  in 
commerce,  can  we  not  do  so  by  carrying  our  super- 
fluities to  the  town,  without  my  wandering  to  the 
Indies?  Our  mothers  tell  me  that  Domingo  is  old 
and  feeble ; but  I am  young,  and  gather  strength 
every  day.  If  any  accident  should  happen  during 
my  absence,  above  all  to  Virginia,  who  already  suf- 
fers — Oh,  no,  no ! ■ — I cannot  resolve  to  leave 
them.” 

So  decided  an  answer  threw  me  into  great  perplex- 
ity, for  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not  concealed  from 
me  the  cause  of  Virginia’s  illness  and  want  of  spirits, 
and  her  desire  of  separating  these  young  people  till 
they  were  a few  years  older.  I took  care,  however, 
not  to  drop  anything  which  could  lead  Paul  to  suspect 
the  existence  of  these  motives. 

About  this  period  a ship  from  France  brought 
Madame  de  la  Tour  a letter  from  her  aunt.  The 
fear  of  death,  without  which  hearts  as  insensible  as 
hers  would  never  feel,  had  alarmed  her  into  compas- 
sion. When  she  wrote,  she  was  recovering  from  a 
dangerous  illness,  which  had,  however,  left  her  in- 
curably languid  and  weak.  She  desired  her  niece  to 
return  to  France;  or,  if  her  health  forbade  her  to 
undertake  so  long  a voyage,  she  begged  her  to  send 


96 


PAUL  AND  VI PG  INI  A. 


Virginia,  on  whom  she  promised  to  bestow  a good 
education,  to  procure  for  her  a splendid  marriage, 
and  to  leave  her  heiress  of  her  whole  fortune.  She 
concluded  by  enjoining  strict  obedience  to  her  will,  in 
gratitude,  she  said,  for  her  great  kindness. 

At  the  perusal  of  this  letter  general  consternation 
spread  itself  through  the  whole  assembled  party. 
Domingo  and  Mary  began  to  weep.  Paul,  motion- 
less with  surprise,  appeared  almost  ready  to  burst 
with  indignation ; while  Virginia,  fixing  her  eyes 
anxiously  upon  her  mother,  had  not  power  to  utter  a 
single  word.  “And  can  you  now  leave  us?”  cried 
Margaret  to  Madame  de  la  Tour.  “No,  my  dear 
friend,  no,  my  beloved  children,”  replied  Madame 
de  la  Tour;  “ I will  never  leave  you.  I have  lived 
with  you,  and  with  you  I will  die.  I have  known  no 
happiness  but  in  your  affection.  If  my  health  be  de- 
ranged, my  past  misfortunes  are  the  cause.  My  heart 
has  been  deeply  wounded  by  the  cruelty  of  my  rela- 
tions, and  by  the  loss  of  my  beloved  husband.  But 
I have  since  found  more  consolation  and  more  real 
happiness  with  you,  in  these  humble  huts,  than  all 
the  wealth  of  my  family  could  now  lead  me  to  expect 
in  my  own  country.” 

At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  overflowed 
with  tears  of  delight.  Paul,  pressing  Madame  de  la 
Tour  in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  “Neither  will  I leave 
you ! I will  not  go  to  the  Indies.  We  will  all  labor 
for  you,  dear  mamma ; and  you  shall  never  feel  any 
want  with  us.”  But  of  the  whole  society,  the  person 
who  displayed  the  least  transport,  and  who  probably 
felt  the  most,  was  Virginia : and,  during  the  remain- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


97 


der  of  the  day,  the  gentle  gayety  which  flowed  from 
her  heart,  and  proved  that  her  peace  of  mind  was 
restored,  completed  the  general  satisfaction. 

At  sunrise  the  next  day,  just  as  they  had  concluded 
offering  up,  as  usual,  their  morning  prayer  before 
breakfast,  Domingo  came  to  inform  them  that  a gen- 
tleman on  horseback,  followed  by  two  slaves,  was 
coming  towards  the  plantation.  It  was  Monsieur  de 
la  Bourdonnais.  He  entered  the  cottage,  where  he 
found  the  family  at  breakfast.  Virginia  had  prepared, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  coffee,  and 
rice  boiled  in  water.  To  these  she  had  added  hot 
yams  and  fresh  plantains.  The  leaves  of  the  plan- 
tain-tree supplied  the  want  of  table-linen ; and  cala- 
bash shells,  split  in  two,  served  for  cups.  The 
Governor  exhibited,  at  first,  some  astonishment  at 
the  homeliness  of  the  dwelling:  then,  addressing 
himself  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  he  observed,  that 
although  public  affairs  drew  his  attention  too  much 
from  the  concerns  of  individuals,  she  had  many  claims 
on  his  good  offices.  “ You  have  an  aunt  at  Paris, 
madame,”  he  added,  “a  woman  of  quality,  and  im- 
mensely rich,  who  expects  that  you  will  hasten  to  see 
her,  and  who  means  to  bestow  upon  you  her  whole 
fortune.”  Madame  de  la  Tour  replied,  that  the  state 
of  her  health  would  not  permit  her  to  undertake  so 
long  a voyage. 

“ At  least,”  resumed  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais, 
“ you  cannot,  without  injustice,  deprive  this  amiable 
young  lady,  your  daughter,  of  so  noble  an  inherit- 
ance. I will  not  conceal  from  you,  that  your  aunt 
has  made  use  of  her  influence  to  secure  your  daugh- 


98 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN/ A. 


ter  being  sent  to  her  ; and  that  I have  received  official 
letters,  in  which  I am  ordered  to  exert  my  authority, 
if  necessary,  to  that  effect.  But  as  I only  wish  to 
employ  my  power  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  the 
inhabitants  of  this  country  happy,  I expect  from  your 
good  sense  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  a few  years, 
upon  which  your  daughter’s  establishment  in  the 
world,  and  the  welfare  of  your  whole  life,  depend. 
Wherefore  do  we  come  to  these  islands?  Is  it  not  to 
acquire  a fortune?  And  will  it  not  be  more  agreeable 
to  return,  and  find  it  in  your  own  country?” 

He  then  took  a large  bag  of  piastres  from  one  of 
his  slaves,  and  placed  it  upon  the  table.  “ This 
sum,”  he  continued,  “ is  allotted  by  your  aunt  to 
defray  the  outlay  necessary  for  the  equipment  of  the 
young  lady  for  her  voyage.”  Gently  reproaching 
Madame  de  la  Tour  for  not  having  had  recourse  to 
him  in  her  difficulties,  he  extolled  at  the  same  time 
her  noble  fortitude.  Upon  this  Paul  said  to  the  Gov- 
ernor, “ My  mother  did  apply  to  you,  sir,  and  you 
received  her  ill.”  — ‘‘Have  you  another  child,  ma- 
dame?”  said  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to  Madame 
de  la  Tour.  “No,  sir,”  she  replied;  “this  is  the 
son  of  my  friend  ; but  he  and  Virginia  are  equally 
dear  to  us,  and  we  mutually  consider  them  both  as 
our  own  children.”  — “Young  man,”  said  the  Gov^ 
ernor  to  Paul,  “ when  you  have  acquired  a little  more 
experience  of  the  world,  you  will  know  that  it  is  the 
misfortune  of  people  in  place  to  be  deceived,  and  to 
bestow,  in  consequence,  upon  intriguing  vice  that 
which  they  would  wish  to  give  to  modest  merit.” 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  request  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


99 


Madame  de  la  Tour,  placed  himself  next  to  her  at 
table,  and  breakfasted,  after  the  manner  of  the  Creoles, 
upon  coffee,  mixed  with  rice  boiled  in  water.  He 
was  delighted  with  the  order  and  cleanliness  which 
prevailed  in  the  little  cottage,  the  harmony  of  the 
two  interesting  families,  and  the  zeal  of  their  old 
servants.  “Here,”  he  exclaimed,  “I  discern  only 
wooden  furniture,  but  find  serene  countenances  and 
hearts  of  gold.”  Paul,  enchanted  with  the  affability 
of  the  Governor,  said  to  him,  — “I  wish  to  be  your 
friend ; for  you  are  a good  man.”  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  received  with  pleasure  this  insular  com- 
pliment, and,  taking  Paul  by  the  hand,  assured  him 
that  he  might  rely  upon  his  friendship. 

After  breakfast  he  took  Madame  de  la  Tour  aside, 
and  informed  her  that  an  opportunity  would  soon 
offer  itself  of  sending  her  daughter  to  France,  in  a 
ship  which  was  going  to  sail  in  a short  time ; that  he 
would  put  her  under  the  charge  of  a lady,  one  of  the 
passengers,  who  was  a relation  of  his  own ; and  that 
she  must  not  think  of  renouncing  an  immense  for- 
tune on  account  of  the  pain  of  being  separated  from 
her  daughter  for  a brief  interval.  “ Your  aunt,”  he 
added,  “ cannot  live  more  than  two  years ; of  this  I 
am  assured  by  her  friends.  Think  of  it  seriously. 
Fortune  does  not  visit  us  every  day.  Consult  your 
friends.  I am  sure  that  every  person  of  good  sense 
will  be  of  my  opinion.”  She  answered,  “ that,  as 
she  desired  no  other  happiness  henceforth  in  the 
world  than  in  promoting  that  of  her  daughter,  she 
hoped  to  be  allowed  to  leave  her  departure  for  France 
entirely  to  her  own  inclination.” 


lOO 


rA{/L  AND  VIDG/N/A. 


Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find  an  oppor- 
tunity of  separating  Paul  and  Virginia  for  a short 
time,  and  provide,  by  this  means,  for  their  mutual 
felicity  at  a future  period.  She  took  her  daughter 
aside,  and  said  to  her,  — “My  dear  child,  our  ser- 
vants are  nowold.  Paul  is  still  very  young ; Mar- 
garet is  advanced  in  years,  and  1 am  already  infirm. 
If  I should  die,  what  would  become  of  you,  without 
fortune,  in  the  midst  of  these  deserts?  You  would 
then  be  left  alone,  without  any  person  who  could 
afford  you  much  assistance,  and  would  be  obliged  to 
labor  without  ceasing,  as  a hired  servant,  in  order  to 
support  your  wretched  existence.  This  idea  over- 
comes me  with  sorrow.”  Virginia  answered,  — “ God 
has  appointed  us  to  labor,  and  to  bless  Him  every 
day.  Up  to  this  time  He  has  never  forsaken  us,  and 
He  never  will  forsake  us  in  time  to  come.  His  provi- 
dence watches  most  especially  over  the  unfortunate. 
You  have  told  me  this  very  often,  my  dear  mother! 
I cannot  resolve  to  leave  you.”  Madame  de  la  Tour 
replied,  with  much  emotion,  — “I  have  no  other  aim 
than  to  render  you  happy,  and  to  marry  you  one  day 
to  Paul,  who  is  not  really  your  brother.  Remember, 
then,  that  his  fortune  depends  upon  you.” 

A young  girl  who  is  in  love  believes  that  every  one 
else  is  ignorant  of  her  passion : she  throws  over  her 
eyes  the  veil  with  which  she  covers  the  feelings  of  her 
heart : but  when  it  is  once  lifted  by  a friendly  hand, 
the  hidden  sorrows  of  her  attachment  escape  as 
through  a newly-opened  barrier,  and  the  sweet  out- 
pourings of  unrestrained  confidence  succeed  to  her 
former  mystery  and  reserve.  Virginia,  deeply  af- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


lOI 


fected  by  this  new  proof  of  her  mother’s  tenderness, 
related  to  her  the  cruel  struggles  she  had  undergone, 
of  which  Heaven  alone  had  been  witness : she  saw, 
she  said,  the  hand  of  Providence  in  the  assistance  of 
an  affectionate  mother,  who  approved  of  her  attach- 
ment, and  would  guide  her  by  her  counsels ; and  as 
she  was  now  strengthened  by  such  support,  every 
consideration  led  her  to  remain  with  her  mother, 
without  anxiety  for  the  present,  and  without  appre- 
hension for  the  future.  Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiv- 
ing that  this  confidential  conversation  had  produced 
an  effect  altogether  different  from  that  which  she 
expected,  said,  — “My  dear  child,  I do  not  wish  to 
constrain  you : think  over  it  at  leisure,  but  conceal 
your  affection  from  Paul.  It  is  better  not  to  let  a 
man  know  that  the  heart  of  his  mistress  is  gained.” 

Virginia  and  her  mother  were  sitting  together  by 
themselves  the  same  evening,  when  a tall  man,  dressed 
in  a blue  cassock,  entered  their  cottage.  He  was  a 
missionary  priest,  and  the  confessor  of  Madame  de 
la  Tour  and  her  daughter,  who  had  now  been  sent  to 
them  by  the  Governor.  “ My  children,”  he  ex- 
claimed as  he  entered,  “ God  be  praised  ! you  are  now 
rich.  You  can  now  attend  to  the  kind  suggestions 
of  your  benevolent  hearts,  and  do  good  to  the  poor. 
I know  what  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  has  said  to 
you,  and  what  you  have  said  in  reply.  Your  health, 
dear  madam,  obliges  you  to  remain  here ; but  you, 
young  lady,  are  without  excuse.  We  must  obey  the 
direction  of  Providence  ; and  we  must  also  obey  our 
aged  relations,  even  when  they  are  unjust.  A sacri- 
fice is  required  of  you;  but  it  is  the  will  of  God. 


102 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Our  Lord  devoted  Himself  for  you ; and  you,  in  imi- 
tation of  His  example,  must  give  up  something  for 
the  welfare  of  your  family.  Your  voyage  to  France 


will  end  happily.  You  will  surely  consent  to  go,  my 
dear  young  lady.” 

Virginia,  with  downcast  eyes,  answered,  trembling, 
■ — “ Jf  it  is  the  command  of  God,  I will  not  presume 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


103 


to  oppose  it.  Let  the  will  of  God  be  done!”  As 
she  uttered  these  words  she  wept. 

The  priest  went  away,  in  order  to  inform  the  Gov- 
ernor of  the  success  of  his  mission.  In  the  mean 
time  Madame  de  la  Tour  sent  Domingo  to  request 
me  to  come  to  her,  that  she  might  consult  me 
respecting  Virginia’s  departure.  I was  not  at  all  of 
opinion  that  she  ought  to  go.  I consider  it  as  a fixed 
principle  of  happiness,  that  we  ought  to  prefer  the 
advantages  of  nature  to  those  of  fortune,  and  never 
go  in  search  of  that  at  a distance  which  we  may  find 
at  home  — in  our  own  bosoms.  But  what  could  be 
expected  from  my  advice,  in  opposition  to  the  illu- 
sions of  a splendid  fortune? — or  from  my  simple 
reasoning,  when  in  competition  with  the  prejudices 
of  the  world,  and  an  authority  held  sacred  by 
Madame  de  la  Tour?  This  lady,  indeed,  had  only 
consulted  me  out  of  politeness  ; she  had  ceased  to 
deliberate  since  she  had  heard  the  decision  of  her 
confessor.  Margaret  herself,  who,  notwithstanding 
the  advantages  she  expected  for  her  son  from  the 
possession  of  Virginia’s  fortune,  had  hitherto  opposed 
her  departure,  made  no  further  objections.  As  for 
Paul,  in  ignorance  of  what  had  been  determined,  but 
alarmed  at  the  secret  conversations  which  Virginia 
had  been  holding  with  her  mother,  he  abandoned 
himself  to  melancholy.  “They  are  plotting  some- 
thing against  me,”  cried  he,  “ for  they  conceal  every- 
thing from  me.” 

A report  having  in  the  mean  time  been  spread  in 
the  island  that  fortune  had  visited  these  rocks,  mer- 
chants of  every  description  were  seen  climbing  their 


104 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


steep  ascent.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  were  seen  dis- 
played in  these  humble  huts  the  richest  stuffs  of 
India;  the  fine  dimity  of  Gondelore ; the  handker- 
chiefs of  Pellicate  and  Masulipatan ; the  plain, 
striped,  and  embroidered  muslins  of  Dacca,  so  beau- 
tifully transparent ; the  delicately  white  cottons  of 
Surat,  and  linens  of  all  colors.  They  also  brought 
with  them  the  gorgeous  silks  of  China ; satin  dam- 
asks, some  white,  and  others  grass-green  and  bright 
red ; pink  taffetas,  with  a profusion  of  satins  and 
gauze  of  Tonquin,  both  plain  and  decorated  with 
flowers ; soft  pekins,  downy  as  cloth ; with  white 
and  yellow  nankeens,  and  the  calicoes  of  Mada- 
gascar. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  wished  her  daughter  to  pur- 
chase whatever  she  liked ; she  only  examined  the 
goods,  and  inquired  the  price,  to  take  care  that  the 
dealers  did  not  cheat  her.  Virginia  made  choice  of 
everything  she  thought  would  be  useful  or  agreeable 
to  her  mother,  or  to  Margaret  and  her  son.  “ This,” 
said  she,  “ will  be  wanted  for  furnishing  the  cottage, 
and  that  will  be  very  useful  to  Mary  and  Domingo.” 
In  short,  the  bag  of  piastres  was  almost  emptied 
before  she  even  began  to  consider  her  own  wants ; 
and  she  was  obliged  to  receive  back  for  her  own  use 
a share  of  the  presents  which  she  had  distributed 
among  the  family  circle. 

Paul,  overcome  with  sorrow  at  the  sight  of  these 
gifts  of  fortune,  which  he  felt  were  a presage  of  Vir- 
ginia’s departure,  came  a few  days  after  to  my  dwell- 
ing. With  an  air  of  deep  despondency  he  said  to 
me,  — “My  sister  is  going  away;  she  is  already 


VIRGINIA  DRESSED, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  105 

making  preparations  for  her  voyage.  I conjure  you 
to  come  and  exert  your  influence  over  her  mother 
and  mine  in  order  to  detain  her  here.”  I could  not 
refuse  the  young  man’s  solicitations,  although  well 
convinced  that  my  representations  would  be  un- 
availing. 

Virginia  had  ever  appeared  to  me  charming  when 
clad  in  the  coarse  cloth  of  Bengal,  with  a red  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  her  head  : you  may  therefore 
imagine  how  much  her  beauty  was  increased  when 
she  was  attired  in  the  graceful  and  elegant  costume 
worn  by  the  ladies  of  this  country  ! She  had  on  a 
white  muslin  dress,  lined  with  pink  taffeta.  Her 
somewhat  tall  and  slender  figure  was  shown  to  advan- 
tage in  her  new  attire,  and  the  simple  arrangement 
of  her  hair  accorded  admirably  with  the  form  of  her 
head.  Her  fine  blue  eyes  were  filled  with  an  expres- 
sion of  melancholy ; and  the  struggles  of  passion, 
with  which  her  heart  was  agitated,  imparted  a flush 
to  her  cheek,  and  to  her  voice  a tone  of  deep  emo- 
tion. The  contrast  between  her  pensive  look  and 
her  gay  habiliments  rendered  her  more  interesting 
than  ever,  nor  was  it  possible  to  see  or  hear  her  un- 
moved. 

Paul  became  more  and  more  melancholy ; and 
at  length  Margaret,  distressed  at  the  situation  of  her 
son,  took  him  aside,  and  said  to  him,  — “ Why,  my 
dear  child,  will  you  cherish  vain  hopes,  which  will 
only  render  your  disappointment  more  bitter?  It  is 
time  for  me  to  make  known  to  you  the  secret  of  your 
life  and  of  mine.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  belongs, 
by  her  mother’s  side,  to  a rich  and  noble  family, 


io6 


PAUL  AND  V IRC  I NT  A. 


while  you  are  but  the  son  of  a poor  peasant  girl; 
and  what  is  worse,  you  are  illegitimate.” 

Paul,  who  had  never  heard  this  last  expression 
before,  inquired  with  eagerness  its  meaning.  His 
mother  replied,  — “I  was  not  married  to  your  father. 
When  I was  a girl,  seduced  by  love,  I was  guilty  of  a 
weakness  of  which  you  are  the  offspring.  The  con- 
sequence of  my  fault  is,  that  you  are  deprived  of  the 
protection  of  a father’s  family,  and  by  my  flight  from 
home  you  have  also  lost  that  of  your  mother’s. 
Unfortunate  child  ! you  have  no  relation  in  the  world 
but  me!”  — and  she  shed  a flood  of  tears.  Paul, 
pressing  her  in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  “Oh,  my  dear 
mother ! since  1 have  no  relation  in  the  world  but 
you,  I will  love  you  all  the  more.  But  what  a secret 
have  you  just  disclosed  to  me  ! I now  see  the  reason 
why  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  has . estranged  herself 
so  much  from  me  for  the  last  two  months,  and  why 
she  has  determined  to  go  to  France.  Ah  I I perceive 
too  well  that  she  despises  me  ! ” 

The  hour  of  supper  being  arrived,  we  gathered 
round  the  table : but  the  different  sensations  with 
which  we  were  agitated  left  us  little  inclination  to 
eat,  and  the  meal,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  passed  in 
silence.  Virginia  was  the  first  to  rise  ; she  went  out 
and  seated  herself  on  the  very  spot  where  we  now 
are.  Paul  hastened  after  her,  and  sat  down  by  her 
side.  Both  of  them,  for  some  time,  kept  a profound 
silence.  It  was  one  of  those  delicious  nights  which 
are  so  common  between  the  tropics,  and  to  the  beauty 
of  which  no  pencil  can  do  justice.  The  moon  ap- 
peared in  the  midst  of  the  firmament,  surrounded  by 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA.  loj 

a curtain  of  clouds,  which  was  gradually  unfolded 
by  her  beams.  Her  light  insensibly  spread  itself 
over  the  mountains  of  the  island,  and  their  distant 
peaks  glistened  with  a silvery  green.  The  winds 
were  perfectly  still.  We  heard  among  the  woods,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and  on  the  summits  of  the 
rocks,  the  piping  cries  and  the  soft  notes  of  the  birds, 
wantoning  in  their  nests,  and  rejoicing  in  the  bright- 
ness of  the  night  and  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere. 
The  hum  of  insects  was  heard  in  the  grass.  The 
stars  sparkled  in  the  heavens,  and  their  lucid  orbs 
were  reflected,  in  trembling  sparkles,  from  the  tran- 
quil bosom  of  the  ocean.  Virginia’s  eyes  wandered 
distractedly  over  its  vast  and  gloomy  horizon,  distin- 
guishable from  the  shore  of  the  island  only  by  the 
red  fires  in  the  fishing-boats.  She  perceived  at  the 
entrance  of  the  harbor  a light  and  a shadow : these 
were  the  watchlight  and  the  hull  of  the  vessel  in 
which  she  was  to  embark  for  Europe,  and  which,  all 
ready  for  sea,  lay  at  anchor,  waiting  for  a breeze. 
Affected  at  this  sight,  she  turned  away  her  head,  in 
order  to  hide  her  tears  from  Paul. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  and  I,  were  seated 
at  a little  distance  beneath  the  plantain-trees ; and 
owing  to  the  stillness  of  the  night  we  distinctly 
heard  their  conversation,  which  I have  not  forgotten. 

Paul  said  to  her,  — “You  are  going  away  from  us, 
they  tell  me,  in  three  days.  You  do  not  fear  then  to 
encounter  the  dangers  of  the  sea,  at  the  sight  of 
which  you  are  so  much  terrified?  ” — “ I must  perform 
my  duty,”  answered  Virginia,  “by  obeying  my 
parent.”  — “You  leave  us,”  resumed  Paul,  “for  adis- 


io8 


PAUL  AND  VIP  GIN/ A. 


tant  relation,  whom  you  have  never  seen.” — “Alas!” 
cried  Virginia,  “I  would  have  remained  here  my 
whole  life,  but  my  mother  would  not  have  it  so.  My 
confessor,  too,  told  me  it  was  the  will  of  God  that 


I should  go,  and  that  life  was  a scene  of  trials ! 
— and  oh  1 this  is  indeed  a severe  one.” 

“What!”  exclaimed  Paul,  “you  could  find  so 
many  reasons  for  going,  and  not  one  for  remaining 
here ! Ah  I there  is  one  reason  for  your  departure 
that  you  have  not  mentioned.  Riches  have  great 
attractions.  You  will  soon  find  in  the  new  world  to 
which  you  are  going,  another,  to  whom  you  will  give 
the  name  of  brother,  which  you  bestow  on  me  no 
more.  You  will  choose  that  brother  from  amongst 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  109 

persons  who  are  worthy  of  you  by  their  birth,  and  by 
a fortune  which  I have  not  to  offer.  But  where  can 
you  go  to  be  happier?  On  what  shore  will  you  land, 
and  find  it  dearer  to  you  than  the  spot  which  gave 
you  birth  ? — and  where  will  you  form  around  you  a 
society  more  delightful  to  you  than  this,  by  which 
you  are  so  much  beloved?  How  will  you  bear  to  live 
without  your  mother’s  caresses,  to  which  you  are  so 
accustomed?  What  will  become  of  her,  already 
advanced  in  years,  when  she  no  longer  sees  you  at 
her  side  at  table,  in  the  house,  in  the  walks,  where 
she  used  to  lean  upon  you?  What  will  become  of 
my  mother,  who  loves  you  with  the  same  affection? 
What  shall  I say  to  comfort  them  when  I see  them 
weeping  for  your  absence?  Cruel  Virginia!  I say 
nothing  to  you  of  myself ; but  what  will  become  of 
me,  when  in  the  morning  I shall  no  more  see  you ; 
when  the  evening  will  come,  and  not  reunite  us?  — 
when  I shall  gaze  on  these  two  palm-trees,  planted 
at  our  birth,  and  so  long  the  witnesses  of  our  mutual 
friendship?  Ah!  since  your  lot  is  changed,  — since 
you  seek  in  a far  country  other  possessions  than  the 
fruits  of  my  labor,  let  me  go  with  you  in  the  vessel  in 
which  you  are  about  to  embark.  I will  sustain  your 
spirits  in  the  midst  of  those  tempests  which  terrify 
you  so  much,  even  on  shore.  I will  lay  my  head  upon 
your  bosom  : I will  warm  your  heart  upon  my  own  ; 
and  in  France,  where  you  are  going  in  search  of  for- 
tune and  of  grandeur,  I will  wait  upon  you  as  your 
slave.  Happy  only  in  your  happiness,  you  will  find 
me  in  those  palaces  where  I shall  see  you  receiving 
the  homage  and  adoration  of  all,  rich  and  noble 


I lO 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


enough  to  make  you  the  greatest  of  all  sacrifices,  by 
dying  at  your  feet.” 

The  violence  of  his  emotions  stopped  his  utter- 
ance, and  we  then  heard  Virginia,  who,  in  a voice 
broken  by  sobs,  uttered  these  words,  — “ It  is  for  you 
that  I go,  — for  you,  whom  I see  tired  to  death  every 
day  by  the  labor  of  sustaining  two  helpless  families. 
If  I have  accepted  this  opportunity  of  becoming  rich, 
it  is  only  to  return  a thousandfold  the  good  which 
you  have  done  us.  Can  any  fortune  be  equal  to  your 
friendship?  Why  do  you  talk  about  your  birth? 
Ah  ! if  it  were  possible  for  me  still  to  have  a brother, 
should  I make  choice  of  any  other  than  you?  Oh, 
Paul ! Paul ! you  are  far  dearer  to  me  than  a brother ; 
how  much  has  it  cost  me  to  repulse  you  from  me ! 
Help  me  to  tear  myself  from  what  I value  more  than 
existence  till  Heaven  shall  bless  our  union.  But  I 
will  stay  or  go,  — I will  live  or  die  ; dispose  of  me  as 
you  will.  Unhappy  that  I am!  I could  have  repelled 
your  caresses,  but  I cannot  support  your  affliction.” 

At  these  words  Paul  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and, 
holding  her  pressed  close  to  his  bosom,  cried,  in  a 
piercing  tone,  — “I  will  go  with  her,  — nothing  shall 
ever  part  us.”  We  all  ran  towards  him  ; and  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour  said  to  him,  — “ My  son,  if  you  go, 
what  will  become  of  us  ? ” 

He,  trembling,  repeated  after  her  the  words,  — 
“ My  son  ! — my  son  ! You  my  mother  ! ” cried  he  ; 
“you,  who  would  separate  the  brother  from  the  sis- 
ter! We  have  both  been  nourished  at  your  bosom; 
we  have  both  been  reared  upon  your  knees ; we  have 
learnt  of  you  to  love  one  another ; we  have  said  so  a 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


III 


thousand  times ; and  now  you  would  separate  her 
from  me!  — you  would  send  her  to  Europe,  that  in-" 
hospitable  country  which  refused  you  an  asylum,  and 
to  relations,  by  whom  you  yourself  were  abandoned. 
You  will  tell  me  that  I have  no  right  over  her,  and 
that  she  is  not  my  sister.  She  is  everything  to  me  ; 
— my  riches,  my  birth,  my  family,  — all  that  I have  ! 
1 know  no  other.  We  have  had  but  one  roof,  — one 
cradle,  — and  we  will  have  but  one  grave!  If  she 
goes,  I will  follow  her.  The  Governor  will  prevent 
me!  Will  he  prevent  me  from  flinging  myself  into 
the  sea?  — will  he  prevent  me  from  following  her  by 
swimming?  The  sea  cannot  be  more  fatal  to  me 
than  the  land.  Since  I cannot  live  with  her,  at  least 
I will  die  before  her  eyes,  far  from  you.  Inhuman 
mother!  — woman  without  compassion!  — may  the 
ocean,  to  which  you  trust  her,  restore  her  to  you  no 
more  ! May  the  waves,  rolling  back  our  bodies  amid 
the  shingles  of  this  beach,  give  you,  in  the  loss  of 
your  two  children,  an  eternal  subject  of  remorse  ! ” 

At  these  words  I seized  him  in  my  arms,  for  despair 
had  deprived  him  of  reason.  His  eyes  sparkled  with 
Are  ; the  perspiration  fell  in  great  drops  from  his  face  ; 
his  knees  trembled,  and  1 felt  his  heart  beat  violently 
against  his  burning  bosom. 

Virginia,  alarmed,  said  to  him,  — “Oh,  my  dear 
Paul,  I call  to  witness  the  pleasures  of  our  early  age, 
your  griefs  and  my  own,  and  everything  that  can  for- 
ever bind  two  unfortunate  beings  to  each  other,  that 
if  I remain  at  home,  I will  live  but  for  you ; that  if  I 
go,  I will  one  day  return  to  be  yours.  1 call  you  all 
to  witness;  — you  who  have  reared  me  from  my  in- 


I I 2 


I^AUL  AND  F/DG/N/A. 


fancy,  who  dispose  of  my  life,  and  who  see  my  tears. 
I swear  by  that  Heaven  winch  hears  me,  by  the  sea 
which  I am  going  to  pass,  by  the  air  I breathe,  and 
which  I never  sullied  by  a hdsehood.” 


As  the  sun  softens  and  precipitates  an  icy  rock 
from  the  summit  of  one  of  the  Apennines,  so  the 
impetuous  passions  of  the  young  man  were  subdued 
by  the  voice  of  her  he  loved.  He  bent  his  head,  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


I13 

a torrent  of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  His  mother, 
mingling  her  tears  with  his,  held  him  in  her  arms, 
but  was  unable  to  speak.  Madame  de  la  Tour,  half 
distracted,  said  to  me,  — “ I can  bear  this  no  longer. 
My  heart  is  quite  broken.  This  unfortunate  voyage 
shall  not  take  place.  Do  take  my  son  home  with 
you.  Not  one  of  us  has  had  any  rest  the  whole 
week.” 

I said  to  Paul,  “ My  dear  friend,  your  sister  shall 
remain  here.  To-morrow  we  will  talk  to  the  Gov- 
ernor about  it:  leave  your  family  to  take  some  rest, 
and  come  and  pass  the  night  with  me.  It  is  late  ; 
it  is  midnight ; the  Southern  Cross  is  just  above  the 
horizon.” 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in  silence ; and, 
after  a night  of  great  agitation,  he  arose  at  break  of 
day,  and  returned  home. 

“ But  why  should  I continue  any  longer  to  you  the 
recital  of  this  history?  There  is  but  one  aspect  of 
human  existence  which  we  can  ever  contemplate  with 
pleasure.  Like  the  globe  upon  which  we  revolve,  the 
fleeting  course  of  our  life  is  but  a day : and  if  one 
part  of  that  day  be  visited  by  light,  the  other  is 
thrown  into  darkness.” 

“ My  father,”  I answered,  “finish,  I conjure  you, 
the  history  which  you  have  begun  in  a manner  so  in- 
teresting. If  the  images  of  happiness  are  the  most 
pleasing,  those  of  misfortune  are  more  instructive. 
Tell  me  what  became  of  the  unhappy  young  man.” 

The  first  object  beheld  by  Paul  in  his  way  home  was 
the  negro  woman,  Mary,  who,  mounted  on  a rock, 
was  earnestly  looking  towards  the  sea.  As  soon  as 


1 14  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

he  perceived  her,  he  called  to  her  from  a distance,  — 
“Where  is  Virginia?”  Mary  turned  her  head 
tov/ards  her  young  master,  and  began  to  weep. 
Paul,  distracted,  retracing  his  steps,  ran  to  the  har- 
bor. He  was  there  informed  that  Virginia  had  em- 
barked at  break  of  day,  and  that  the  vessel  had 
immediately  set  sail,  and  was  now  out  of  sight.  He 
instantly  returned  to  the  plantation,  which  he  crossed 
without  uttering  a word. 

Quite  perpendicular  as  appears  the  wall  of  rocks 
behind  us,  those  green  platforms  which  separate  their 
summits  are  so  many  stages,  by  means  of  which  you 
may  reach,  through  some  difficult  paths,  that  cone  of 
sloping  and  inaccessible  rocks  which  is  called  The 
Thumb.  At  the  foot  of  that  cone  is  an  extended 
slope  of  ground,  covered  with  lofty  trees,  and  so 
steep  and  elevated  that  it  looks  like  a forest  in  the 
air,  surrounded  by  tremendous  precipices.  The 
clouds,  which  are  constantly  attracted  round  the 
summit  of  The  Thumb,  supply  innumerable  rivulets, 
which  fall  to  so  great  a depth  in  the  valley  situated 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  that  from  this 
elevated  point  the  sound  of  their  cataracts  cannot  be 
heard.  From  that  spot  you  can  discern  a considera- 
ble part  of  the  island,  diversified  by  precipices  and 
mountain  peaks,  and,  amongst  others,  Peter-Booth 
and  the  Three  Breasts,  with  their  valleys  full 
of  woods.  You  also  command  an  extensive  view 
of  the  ocean,  and  can  even  perceive  the  Isle  of 
Bourbon,  forty  leagues  to  the  westward.  From  the 
summit  of  that  stupendous  pile  of  rocks  Paul  caught 
sight  of  the  vessel  which  was  bearing  away  Virginia, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  iiS 

and  which  now,  ten  leagues  out  at  sea,  appeared  like 
a black  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  He  remained 
a great  part  of  the  day  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  this 
object : when  it  had  disappeared,  he  still  fancied  he 
beheld  it ; and  when,  at  length,  the  traces  which 
clung  to  his  imagination  were  lost  in  the  mists  of  the 
horizon,  he  seated  himself  on  that  wild  point,  forever 
beaten  by  the  winds,  which  never  cease  to  agitate  the 
tops  of  the  cabbage  and  gum  trees,  and  the  hoarse 
and  moaning  murmurs  of  which,  similar  to  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  organs,  inspire  a profound  melancholy. 
On  this  spot  I found  him,  his  head  reclined  on  the 
rock,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  I had 
followed  him  from  the  earliest  dawn,  and,  after  much 
importunity,  I prevailed  on  him  to  descend  from  the 
heights,  and  return  to  his  family.  I went  home  with 
him,  where  the  first  impulse  of  his  mind,  on  seeing 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  was  to  reproach  her  bitterly  for 
having  deceived  him.  She  told  us  that  a favorable 
wind  having  sprung  up  at  three  o’clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  vessel  being  ready  to  sail,  the  Governor, 
attended  by  some  of  his  staff  and  the  missionary, 
had  come  with  a palanquin  to  fetch  her  daughter  ; 
and  that,  notwithstanding  Virginia’s  objections,  her 
own  tears  and  entreaties,  and  the  lamentations  of 
Margaret,  everybody  exclaiming  all  the  time  that  it 
was  for  the  general  welfare,  they  had  carried  her 
away  almost  dying.  “At  least,”  cried  Paul,  “if  I 
had  bid  her  farewell,  I should  now  be  more  calm,  I 
would  have  said  to  her,  — ‘ Virginia,  if,  during  the 
time  we  have  lived  together,  one  word  may  have 
escaped  me  which  has  offended  you,  before  you  leave 


ii6  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

me  forever,  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me  ’ I would 
have  said  to  her,  — ‘ Since  I am  destined  to  see  you 
no  more,  farewell,  my  dear  Virginia,  farewell!  Live 
far  from  me,  contented  and  happy  !’”  When  he  saw 
that  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  were  weep- 
ing, — “You  must  now,”  said  he,  “ seek  some  other 
hand  to  wipe  away  your  tears  ; ” and  then,  rushing 
out  of  the  house,  and  groaning  aloud,  he  wandered 
up  and  down  the  plantation  He  hovered  in  partic- 
ular about  all  those  spots  which  had  once  been  most 
endeared  to  Virginia.  He  said  to  the  goats  and  their 
little  ones,  which  followed  him  bleating,  “ What  do 
you  want  of  me?  You  will  see  with  me  no  more  her 
who  used  to  feed  you  with  her  own  hand.”  He 
went  to  the  bower  called  Virginia’s  Resting-place, 
and,  as  the  birds  flew  around  him,  exclaimed,  “ Poor 
birds  ! you  will  fly  no  more  to  meet  her  who  cher- 
ished you  ! ” — and  observing  Fiddle  running  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  search  of  her,  he  heaved  a 
deep  sigh,  and  cried,  — “Ah!  you  will  never  find 
her  again.”  At  length  he  went  and  seated  himself 
upon  the  rock  where  he  had  conversed  with  her  the 
preceding  evening;  and  at  the  sight  of  the  ocean, 
upon  which  he  had  seen  the  vessel  disappear  which 
had  borne  her  away,  his  heart  overflowed  with 
anguish,  and  he  wept  bitterly. 

We  continually  watched  his  movements,  appre- 
hensive of  some  fatal  consequence  from  the  violent 
agitation  of  his  mind.  His  mother  and  Madame 
de  la  Tour  conjured  him,  in  the  most  tender  manner, 
not  to  increase  their  affliction  by  his  despair.  At 
length  the  latter  soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing  upon 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA.  117 

him  epithets  calculated  to  awaken  his  hope,  — calling 
him  her  son,  her  dear  son,  her  son-in-law,  whom  she 
destined  for  her  daughter.  She  persuaded  him  to 
return  home,  and  to  take  some  food.  He  seated  him- 
self next  to  the  place  which  used  to  be  occupied  by 
the  companion  of  his  childhood  ; and,  as  if  she  had 
still  been  present,  he  spoke  to  her,  and  made  as 
though  he  would  offer  her  whatever  he  knew  was 
most  agreeable  to  her  taste : then,  starting  from  this 
dream  of  fancy,  he  began  to  weep.  For  some  days 
he  employed  himself  in  gathering  together  everything 
which  had  belonged  to  Virginia,  — the  last  nosegays 
she  had  worn,  the  cocoa-shell  from  which  she  used 
to  drink ; and  after  kissing  a thousand  times  these 
relics  of  his  beloved,  to  him  the  most  precious  treas- 
ures which  the  world  contained,  he  hid  them  in  his 
bosom.  Amber  does  not  shed  so  sweet  a perfume  as 
the  veriest  trifles  touched  by  those  we  love.  At 
length,  perceiving  that  the  indulgence  of  his  grief 
increased  that  of  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
and  that  the  wants  of  the  family  demanded  continual 
labor,  he  began,  with  the  assistance  of  Domingo,  to 
repair  the  damage  done  to  the  garden.  But  soon 
after,  this  young  man,  hitherto  indifferent  as  a Creole 
to  everything  that  was  passing  in  the  world,  begged 
of  me  to  teach  him  to  read  and  write,  in  order  that 
he  might  correspond  with  Virginia.  He  afterwards 
wished  to  obtain  a knowledge  of  geography,  that  he 
might  form  some  idea  of  the  country  where  she 
would  disembark ; and  of  history,  that  he  might 
know  something  of  the  manners  of  the  society  in 
which  she  would  be  placed.  The  powerful  senti- 


PAUL  AND  V/PG/N/A. 


1 18 


inent  of  love,  which  directed  Ids  present  studies,  had 
already  instructed  him  in  agriculture,  and  in  the  art 
of  laying  out  grounds  with  advantage  and  beauty. 


It  must  be  admitted,  that  to  the  fond  dreams  of  this 
restless  and  ardent  passion  mankind  are  indebted  for 
most  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  while  its  disappoint- 
ments have  given  birth  to  philosophy,  which  teaches 
us  to  bear  up  under  misfortune.  Love,  thus  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


119 

general  link  of  all  beings,  becomes  the  great  spring 
of  society,  by  inciting  us  to  knowledge  as  well  as  to 
pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study  of  geog- 
raphy, which,  instead  of  describing  the  natural  his- 
tory of  each  country,  gave  only  a view  of  its  political 
divisions  and  boundaries.  History,  and  especially 
modern  history,  interested  him  little  more.  He  there 
saw  only  general  and  periodical  evils,  the  causes  of 
wnich  he  could  not  discover ; wars  without  either 
motive  or  reason ; uninteresting  intrigues ; with 
nations  destitute  of  principle,  and  princes  void  of 
humanity.  To  this  branch  of  reading  he  preferred 
romances,  which,  being  chiefly  occupied  by  the  pri- 


vate feelings  and  concerns  of  men,  sometimes  repre- 
sented situations  similar  to  his  own.  Thus,  no  book 
gave  him  so  much  pleasure  as  Telemachus,  from  the 
pictures  it  draws  of  pastoral  life,  and  of  the  passions 
which  are  most  natural  to  the  human  breast.  He 
read  aloud  to  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 


120 


l^AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


those  parts  which  affected  him  most  sensibly ; but 
sometimes,  touched  by  the  most  tender  remem- 
brances, his  emotion  would  choke  his  utterance,  and 
his  eyes  be  filled  with  tears.  He  fancied  he  had 
found  in  Virginia  the  dignity  and  wisdom  of  Antiope, 
united  to  the  misfortunes  and  the  tenderness  of 
Eucharis.  With  very  different  sensations  he  perused 
our  fashionable  novels,  filled  with  licentious  morals 
and  maxims.  And  when  he  was  informed  that  these 
works  drew  a tolerably  faithful  picture  of  European 
society,  he  trembled,  and  not  without  some  appear- 
ance of  reason,  lest  Virginia  should  become  corrupted 
by  it,  and  forget  him. 

More  than  a year  and  a half,  indeed,  passed  away 
before  Madame  de  la  Tour  received  any  tidings  of 
her  aunt  or  her  daughter.  During  that  period  she 
only  accidentally  heard  that  Virginia  had  safely  ar- 
rived in  France.  At  length,  however,  a vessel  which 
stopped  here  in  its  way  to  the  Indies  brought  a 
packet  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  a letter  written 
by  Virginia’s  own  hand.  Although  this  amiable  and 
considerate  girl  had  written  in  a guarded  manner, 
that  she  might  not  wound  her  mother’s  feelings,  it 
appeared  evident  enough  that  she  was  unhappy. 
The  letter  painted  so  naturally  her  situation  and  her 
character,  that  I have  retained  it  almost  word  for 
word. 

“My  Dear  and  Beloved  Mother,  — I have  already 
seijt  you  several  letters,  written  by  my  own  hand,  but  hav- 
ing received  no  answer,  I am  afraid  they  have  not  reached 
you.  I have  better  hopes  for  this,  from  the  means  I have 
now  gained  of  sending  you  tidings  of  myself,  and  of  hear- 
ing from  you. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


I2I 


“I  have  shed  many  tears  since  our  separation.  I who 
never  used  to  weep,  but  for  the  misfortunes  of  others  ! 
My  aunt  was  much  astonished,  when,  having,  upon  my  ar- 
rival, inquired  what  accomplishments  I possessed,  I told 
her  that  I could  neither  read  nor  write.  She  asked  me 
what  then  I had  learnt,  since  I came  into  the  world  ; and 
when  I answered  that  I had  been  taught  to  take  care  of 
the  household  affairs,  and  to  obey  your  will,  she  told  me, 
that  I had  received  the  education  of  a servant.  The  next 
day  she  placed  me  as  a boarder  in  a great  abbey  near 
Paris,  where  I have  masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach  me, 
among  other  things,  history,  geography,  grammar,  mathe- 
matics, and  riding  on  horseback.  But  I have  so  little 
capacity  for  all  these  sciences,  that  I fear  I shall  make  but 
small  progress  with  my  masters.  I feel  that  I am  a very 
poor  creature,  with  very  little  ability  to  learn  what  they 
teach.  My  aunt’s  kindness,  however,  does  not  decrease. 
She  gives  me  new  dresses  every  season;  and  she  has  placed 
two  waiting  women  with  me,  who  are  dressed  like  fine 
ladies.  She  has  made  me  take  the  title  of  countess;  but 
has  obliged  me  to  renounce  the  name  of  La  Tour,  which 
is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  you,  from  all  you  have  told  me 
of  the  sufferings  my  father  endured  in  order  to  marry  you. 
She  has  given  me  in  place  of  your  name  that  of  your 
family,  which  is  also  dear  to  me,  because  it  was  your 
name  when  a girl.  Seeing  myself  in  so  splendid  a situa- 
tion, I implored  her  to  let  me  send  you  something  to  as- 
sist you.  But  how  shall  I repeat  her  answer!  Yet  you 
have  desired  me  always  to  tell  you  the  truth.  She  told 
me,  then,  that  a little  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  and  that 
a great  deal  would  only  encumber  you  in  the  simple  life 
you  led.  As  you  know  I could  not  write,  I endeavored, 
upon  my  arrival,  to  send  you  tidings  of  myself  by  another 
hand;  but,  finding  no  person  here  in  whom  I could  place 
confidence,  I applied  night  and  day  to  learn  to  read  and 
write;  and  Heaven,  who  saw  my  motive  for  learning,  no 
doubt  assisted  my  endeavors,  for  I succeeded  in  both  in  a 
short  time.  I entrusted  my  first  letters  to  some  of  the 
ladies  here,  who,  I have  reason  to  think,  carried  them  to 
my  aunt.  This  time  I have  recourse  to  a boarder,  who  is 
my  friend.  I send  you  her  direction,  by  means  of  which  I 
shall  receive  your  answer.  My  aunt  has  forbid  my  hold- 


t22 


PAUL  AND  VIP  GIN/A. 


ing  any  correspondence  whatever  with  anyone,  lest,  she 
says,  it  should  occasion  an  obstacle  to  the  great  views  she 
has  for  my  advantage.  No  person  is  allowed  to  see  me  at 
the  grate  but  herself,  and  an  old  nobleman,  one  of  her 
friends,  who,  she  says,  is  much  pleased  with  me.  I am 
sure  I am  not  at  all  so  with  him,  nor  should  I,  even  if  it 
were  possible  for  me  to  be  pleased  with  any  one  at 
present. 

“ I live  in  all  the  splendor  of  affluence,  and  have  not  a 
sous  at  my  disposal.  They  say  I might  make  an  improper 
use  of  money.  Even  my  clothes  belong  to  my  femmes  de 
chaijibi'e^  who  quarrel  about  them  before  I have  left  them 
off.  In  the  midst  of  riches,  I am  poorer  than  when  I 
lived  with  you;  for  I have  nothing  to  give  away.  When 
I found  that  the  great  accomplishments  they  taught  me 
would  not  procure  me  the  power  of  doing  the  smallest 
good,  I had  recourse  to  my  needle,  of  which  happily  you 
had  taught  me  the  use.  I send  several  pairs  of  stockings 
of  my  own  making  for  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret,  a 
cap  for  Domingo,  and  one  of  my  red  handkerchiefs  for 
Mary.  I also  send  with  this  packet  some  kernels,  and 
seeds  of  various  kinds  of  fruits  which  I gathered  in  the 
abbey  park  during  my  hours  of  recreation.  I have  also 
sent  a few  seeds  of  violets,  daisies,  buttercups,  poppies, 
and  scabious,  which  I picked  up  in  the  fields.  There  are 
much  more  beautiful  flowers  in  the  meadows  of  this  coun- 
try than  in  ours,  but  nobody  cares  for  them.  I am  sure 
that  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret  will  be  better  pleased 
with  this  bag  of  seeds,  than  you  were  with  the  bag  of 
piastres,  which  was  the  cause  of  our  separation  and  of  my 
tears.  It  will  give  me  great  delight  if  you  should  one  day 
see  apple-trees  growing  by  the  side  of  our  plantains,  and 
elms  blending  their  foliage  with  that  of  our  cocoa-trees. 
You  will  fancy  yourself  in  Normandy,  which  you  love  so 
much. 

“You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys  and  my 
griefs.  I have  no  joys  far  from  you.  As  for  my  griefs,  I 
endeavor  to  soothe  them  by  reflecting  that  I am  in  the 
situation  in  which  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  you  should 
place  me.  But  my  greatest  affliction  is,  that  no  one  here 
speaks  to  me  of  you,  and  that  I cannot  speak  of  you  to 
any  one.  My  femjjies  de  chambre^  or  rather  those  of  my 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


123 


aunt,  for  they  belong  more  to  her  than  to  me,  told  me  the 
other  day,  when  I wished  to  turn  the  conversation  upon 
the  objects  most  dear  to  me : ‘ Remember,  mademoiselle, 
that  you  are  a French  woman,  and  must  forget  that  land 
of  savages.’  Ah  ! sooner  will  I forget  myself,  than  forget 
the  spot  on  which  I was  born  and  where  you  dwell ! It  is 
this  country  which  is  to  me  a land  of  savages,  for  I live 
alone,  having  no  one  to  whom  I can  impart  those  feelings 
of  tenderness  for  you  which  I shall  bear  with  me  to  the 
grave.  I am, 

“My  dearest  and  beloved  Mother, 

“Your  affectionate  and  dutiful  Daughter, 

“ ViRGINIE  DE  LA  ToUR. 

“I  recommend  to  your  goodness  Mary  and  Domingo, 
who  took  so  much  care  of  my  infancy : caress  Fidele  for 
me,  who  found  me  in  the  wood.” 


Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  had  not  said  one 
word  of  him,  — she,  who  had  not  forgotten  even  the 
house-dog.  But  he  was  not  aware  that,  however 
long  a woman’s  letter  maybe,  she  never  fails  to  leave 
her  dearest  sentiments  for  the  end. 

In  a postscript  Virginia  particularly  recommended 
to  Paul’s  attention  two  kinds  of  seed  — those  of  the 
violet  and  the  scabious.  She  gave  him  some  instruc- 
tions upon  the  natural  characters  of  these  flowers, 
and  the  spots  most  proper  for  their  cultivation.  ‘ ‘ The 
violet,”  she  said,  “ produces  a little  flower  of  a dark 
purple  color,  which  delights  to  conceal  itself  beneath 
the  bushes ; but  it  is  soon  discovered  by  its  wide- 
spreading  perfume.”  She  desired  that  these  seeds 
might  be  sown  by  the  border  of  the  fountain,  at  the 
foot  of  her  cocoa-tree,  “ The  scabious,”  she  added, 
“ produces  a beautiful  flower  of  a pale  blue,  and  a 


124 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


black  ground  spotted  with  white.  You  might  fancy 
it  was  in  mourning;  and  for  this  reason  it  is  also 
called  the  widow's  flower.  It  grows  best  in  bleak 
spots,  beaten  by  the  winds.”  She  begged  him  to 
sow  this  upon  the  rock  where  she  had  spoken  to  him 
at  night  for  the  last  time,  and  that,  in  remembrance 
of  her,  he  would  henceforth  give  it  the  name  of  the 
Rock  of  Adieus. 

She  had  put  these  seeds  into  a little  purse,  the 
tissue  of  which  was  exceedingly  simple ; but  which 
appeared  above  all  price  to  Paul,  when  he  saw  on  it  a 
P and  a V entwined  together,  and  knew  that  the  beau- 
tiful hair  which  formed  the  cipher  was  the  hair  of 
Virginia. 

The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to  the  reading 
of  the  letter  of  this  amiable  and  virtuous  girl.  Her 
mother  answered  it  in  the  name  of  the  little  society, 
desiring  her  to  remain  or  return  as  she  thought 
proper  ; and  assuring  her,  that  happiness  had  left  their 
dwelling  since  her  departure,  and  that,  for  herself, 
she  was  inconsolable. 

Paul  also  sent  her  a very  long  letter,  in  which  he 
assured  her  that  he  would  arrange  the  garden  in  a 
manner  agreeable  to  her  taste,  and  mingle  together 
in  it  the  plants  of  Europe  with  those  of  Africa,  as 
she  had  blended  their  initials  together  in  her  work. 
He  sent  her  some  fruit  from  the  cocoa-trees  of  the 
fountain,  now  arrived  at  maturity ; telling  her,  that 
he  would  not  add  any  of  the  other  productions  of  the 
island,  that  the  desire  of  seeing  them  again  might 
hasten  her  return.  He  conjured  her  to  comply  as 
soon  as  possible  with  the  ardent  wishes  of  her  family, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


125 

and  above  all,  with  his  own,  since  he  could  never  here- 
after taste  happiness  away  from  her. 

Paul  sowed  with  a careful  hand  the  European  seeds, 
particularly  the  violet  and  scabious,  the  flowers  of 
which  seemed  to  bear  some  analogy  to  the  character 
and  present  situation  of  Virginia,  by  whom  they  had 
been  so  especially  recommended ; but  either  they 
were  dried  up  in  the  voyage,  or  the  climate  of  this 
part  of  the  world  is  unfavorable  to  their  growth,  for 
a very  small  number  of  them  even  came  up,  and  not 
one  arrived  at  full  perfection. 

In  the  mean  time,  envy,  which  ever  comes  to  em- 
bitter human  happiness,  particularly  in  the  French 
colonies,  spread  some  reports  in  the  island  which  gave 
Paul  much  uneasiness.  The  passengers  in  the  vessel 
which  brought  Virginia’s  letter  asserted  that  she  was 
upon  the  point  of  being  married,  and  named  the 
nobleman  of  the  court  to  whom  she  was  engaged. 
Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  the  union 
had  already  taken  place,  and  that  they  themselves 
had  witnessed  the  ceremony.  Paul  at  first  despised 
the  report,  brought  by  a merchant  vessel,  as  he  knew 
that  they  often  spread  erroneous  intelligence  in  their 
passage ; but  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  island, 
with  malignant  pity,  aflecting  to  bewail  the  event,  he 
was  soon  led  to  attach  some  degree  of  belief  to  this 
cruel  intelligence.  Besides,  in  some  of  the  novels  he 
had  lately  read,  he  had  seen  that  perfidy  was  treated 
as  a subject  of  pleasantry ; and  knowing  that  these 
books  contained  pretty  faithful  representations  of 
European  manners,  he  feared  that  the  heart  of  Vir- 
ginia was  corrupted,  and  had  forgotten  its  former 


126  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

engagements.  Thus  his  new  acquirements  had 
already  only  served  to  render  him  more  miserable ; 
and  his  apprehensions  were  much  increased  by  the 
circumstance,  that  though  several  ships  touched  here 
from  Europe  within  the  six  months  immediately  fol- 
lowing the  arrival  of  her  letter,  not  one  of  them 
brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a heart  torn  by 
the  most  cruel  agitation,  often  came  to  visit  me,  in 
the  hope  of  confirming  or  banishing  his  uneasiness, 
by  my  experience  of  the  world. 

I live,  as  I have  already  told  you,  a league  and  a 
half  from  this  point,  upon  the  banks  of  a little  river 
which  glides  along  the  Sloping  Mountain  : there  I 
lead  a solitary  life,  without  wife,  children,  or  slaves. 

After  having  enjoyed,  and  lost,  the  rare  felicity  of 
living  with  a congenial  mind,  the  state  of  life  which 
appears  the  least  wretched  is  doubtless  that  of  soli- 
tude. Every  man  who  has  much  cause  of  complaint 
against  his  fellow-creatures  seeks  to  be  alone.  It  is 
also  remarkable  that  all  those  nations  which  have 
been  brought  to  wretchedness  by  their  opinions, 
their  manners,  or  their  forms  of  government,  have 
produced  numerous  classes  of  citizens  altogether 
devoted  to  solitude  and  celibacy.  Such  were  the 
Egyptians  in  their  decline,  and  the  Greeks  of  the 
Lower  Empire  ; and  such  in  our  days  are  the  Indians, 
the  Chinese,  the  modern  Greeks,  the  Italians,  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  eastern  and  southern  nations 
of  Europe.  Solitude,  by  removing  men  from  the 
miseries  which  follow  in  the  train  of  social  inter- 
course, brings  them  in  some  degree  back  to  the  un- 


PAUL  AND  VIP  G INI  A. 


127 


sophisticated  enjoyment  of  nature.  In  the  midst  of 
modern  society,  broken  up  by  innumerable  pre- 
judices, the  mind  is  in  a constant  turmoil  of  agitation. 
It  is  incessantly  revolving  in  itself  a thousand  tumult- 
uous and  contradictory  opinions,  by  which  the  mem- 
bers of  an  ambitious  and  miserable  circle  seek  to 
raise  themselves  above  each  other.  But  in  solitude 
the  soul  lays  aside  the  morbid  illusions  which 
trouble  her,  and  resumes  the  pure  consciousness  of 
herself,  of  nature,  and  of  its  Author,  as  the  muddy 
water  of  a torrent  which  has  ravaged  the  plains, 
coming  to  rest,  and  diffusing  itself  over  some  low 
grounds  out  of  its  course,  deposits  there  the  slime  it 
has  taken  up,  and,  resuming  its  wonted  transparency, 
reflects,  with  its  own  shores,  the  verdure  of  the  earth 
and  the  light  of  heaven.  Thus  does  solitude  recruit 
the  powers  of  the  body  as  well  as  those  of  the  mind. 
It  is  among  hermits  that  are  found  the  men  who 
carry  human  existence  to  its  extreme  limits : such 
are  the  Bramins  of  India.  In  brief,  I consider  soli- 
tude so  necessary  to  happiness,  even  in  the  world 
itself,  that  it  appears  to  me  impossible  to  derive  last- 
ing pleasure  from  any  pursuit  whatever,  or  to  regulate 
our  conduct  by  any  stable  principle,  if  we  do  not 
create  for  ourselves  a mental  void,  whence  our  own 
views  rarely  emerge,  and  into  which  the  opinions  of 
others  never  enter.  I do  not  mean  to  say  that  man 
ought  to  live  absolutely  alone : he  is  connected  by 
his  necessities  with  all  mankind ; his  labors  are  due 
to  man ; and  he  owes  something,  too,  to  the  rest  of 
nature.  But  as  God  has  given  to  each  of  us  organs 
perfectly  adapted  to  the  elements  of  the  globe  on 


128 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


which  we  live,  — feet  for  the  soil,  lungs  for  the  air, 
eyes  for  the  light,  without  the  power  of  changing  the 
use  of  any  of  these  faculties,  — He  has  reserved  for 
Himself,  as  the  Author  of  life,  that  which  is  its  chief 
organ,  the  heart.  I thus  pass  my  days  far  from  man- 
kind, whom  I wish  to  serve,  and  by  whom  I have 
been  persecuted.  After  having  travelled  over  many 
countries  of  Europe,  and  some  parts  of  America  and 
Africa,  I at  length  pitched  my  tent  in  this  thinly- 
peopled  island,  allured  by  its  mild  climate  and  its 
solitudes. 

A cottage  which  I built  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot 
of  a tree,  a little  field  which  I cleared  with  my  own 
hands,  a river  which  glides  before  my  door,  suffice 
for  my  wants  and  for  my  pleasures.  I blend  with 
these  enjoyments  the  perusal  of  some  chosen  books, 
which  teach  me  to  become  better.  They  make  that 
world,  which  I have  abandoned,  still  contribute 
something  to  my  happiness.  They  lay  before  me 
pictures  of  those  passions  which  render  its  inhab- 
itants so  miserable ; and  in  the  comparison  I am 
thus  led  to  make  between  their  lot  and  my  own,  I 
feel  a kind  of  negative  enjoyment.  Like  a man 
saved  from  shipwreck  and  thrown  upon  a rock,  I 
contemplate,  from  my  solitude,  the  storms  which  rage 
through  the  rest  of  the  world ; and  my  repose  seems 
more  profound  from  the  distant  sound  of  the  tempest. 
As  men  have  ceased  to  fall  in  my  way,  I no  longer 
view  them  with  aversion:  I only  pity  them.  If  I 
sometimes  fall  in  with  an  unfortunate  being,  I try 
to  help  him  by  my  counsels,  as  a passer-by  on  the 
lu  ink  of  a torrent  extends  his  hand  to  save  a wretch 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


129 


from  drowning.  But  I have  hardly  ever  found  any 
but  the  innocent  attentive  to  my  voice.  Nature  calls 
the  majority  of  men  to  her  in  vain.  Each  of  them 
forms  an  image  of  her  for  himself,  and  invests  her 
with  his  own  passions.  He  pursues  during  the 
whole  of  his  life  this  vain  phantom,  which  leads  him 
astray ; and  he  afterwards  complains  to  Heaven  of 
the  misfortunes  which  he  has  thus  created  for  him- 
self. Among  the  many  children  of  misfortune  whom 
I have  endeavored  to  lead  back  to  the  enjoyments  of 
nature,  I have  not  found  one  but  was  intoxicated 
with  his  own  miseries.  They  have  listened  to  me  at 
first  with  attention,  in  the  hope  that  I could  teach 
them  how  to  acquire  glory  or  fortune  ; but  when  they 
found  that  I only  wished  to  instruct  them  how  to 
dispense  with  these  chimeras,  their  attention  has 
been  converted  into  pity,  because  I did  not  prize 
their  miserable  happiness.  They  blamed  my  solitary 
life  : they  alleged  that  they  alone  were  useful  to  men, 
and  they  endeavored  to  draw  me  into  their  vortex. 
But  if  I communicate  with  all,  I lay  myself  open  to 
none.  It  is  often  sufficient  for  me  to  serve  as  a les- 
son to  myself.  In  my  present  tranquillity,  I pass  in 
review  the  agitating  pursuits  of  my  past  life,  to 
which  I formerly  attached  so  much  value,  — patron- 
age, fortune,  reputation,  pleasure,  and  the  opinions 
which  are  ever  at  strife  over  all  the  earth.  I com- 
pare the  men  whom  I have  seen  disputing  furiously 
over  these  vanities,  and  who  are  no  more,  to  the  tiny 
waves  of  my  rivulet,  which  break  in  foam  against 
its  rocky  bed,  and  disappear,  never  to  return.  As 
for  me,  I suffer  myself  to  float  calmly  down  the 


130  PAUL  AND  V/RGIN/A. 

stream  of  time  to  the  shoreless  ocean  of  futurity; 
while,  in  the  contemplation  of  the  present  harmony 
of  nature,  I elevate  my  soul  towards  its  supreme 
Author,  and  hope  for  a more  happy  lot  in  another 
state  of  existence. 

Although  you  cannot  descry  from  my  hermitage,  sit- 
uated in  the  midst  of  a forest,  that  immense  variety  of 
objects  which  this  elevated  spot  presents,  the  grounds 
are  disposed  with  peculiar  beauty,  at  least  to  one 
who,  like  me,  prefers  the  seclusion  of  a home  scene 
to  great  and  extensive  prospects.  The  river  which 
glides  before  my  door  passes  in  a straight  line  across 
the  woods,  looking  like  a long  canal  shaded  by  all 
kinds  of  trees.  Among  them  are  the  gum-tree,  the 
ebony-tree,  and  that  which  is  here  called  bois  de 
pom7ne^  with  olive  and  cinnamon-wood  trees ; while 
in  some  parts  the  cabbage-palm  trees  raise  their 
naked  stems  more  than  a hundred  feet  high,  their 
summits  crowned  with  a cluster  of  leaves,  and  tower- 
ing above  the  woods  like  one  forest  piled  upon 
another.  Lianas,  of  various  foliage,  intertwining 
themselves  among  the  trees,  form,  here,  arcades  of 
foliage,  there,  long  canopies  of  verdure.  Most  of 
these  trees  shed  aromatic  odors  so  powerful,  that  the 
garments  of  a traveller,  who  has  passed  through  the 
forest,  often  retain  for  hours  the  most  delicious  fra- 
grance. In  the  season  when  they  produce  their  lavish 
blossoms,  they  appear  as  if  half-covered  with  snow. 
Towards  the  end  of  summer,  various  kinds  of  foreign 
birds  hasten,  impelled  by  some  inexplicable  instinct, 
from  unknown  regions  on  the  other  side  of  immense 
oceans,  to  feed  upon  the  grain  and  other  vegetable 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


13* 

productions  of  the  island  ; and  the  brilliancy  of  their  plu- 
mage forms  a striking  contrast  to  the  more  sombre  tints 
of  the  foliage,  embrowned  by  the  sun.  Among  these 
are  various  kinds  of  parroquets,  and  the  blue  pigeon, 
called  here  the  pigeon  of  Holland.  Monkeys,  the 
domestic  inhabitants  of  our  forests,  sport  upon  the 
dark  branches  of  the  trees,  from  which  they  are  easily 
distinguished  by  their  gray  and  greenish  skin,  and  their 
black  visages.  Some  hang,  suspended  by  the  tail, 
and  swing  themselves  in  air ; others  leap  from  branch 
to  branch,  bearing  their  young  in  their  arms.  The 
murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  these  peaceful 
children  of  nature.  You  hear  nothing  but  sounds  of 
joy, — the  warblings  and  unknown  notes  of  birds 
from  the  countries  of  the  south,  repeated  from  a dis- 
tance by  the  echoes  of  the  forest.  The  river,  which 
pours,  in  foaming  eddies,  over  a bed  of  rocks, 
through  the  midst  of  the  woods,  reflects  here  and 
there  upon  its  limpid  waters  their  venerable  masses 
of  verdure  and  of  shade,  along  with  the  sports  or 
their  happy  inhabitants.  About  a thousand  paces 
from  thence  it  forms  several  cascades,  clear  as  crystal 
in  their  fall,  but  broken  at  the  bottom  into  frothy 
surges.  Innumerable  confused  sounds  issue  from 
these  watery  tumults,  which,  borne  by  the  winds 
across  the  forest,  now  sink  in  distance,  now  all  at 
once  swell  out,  booming  on  the  ear  like  the  bells  or 
a cathedral.  The  air,  kept  ever  in  motion  by  the  run- 
ning water,  preserves  upon  the  banks  of  the  river, 
amid  all  the  summer  heats,  a freshness  and  verdure 
rarely  found  in  this  island,  even  on  the  summits  or 
the  mountains. 


32 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


At  some  distance  from  this  place  is  a rock,  placed 
far  enough  from  the  cascade  to  prevent  the  ear  from 
being  deafened  with  the  noise  of  its  waters,  and  suffi- 
ciently near  for  the  enjoyment  of  seeing  it,  of  feeling 
its  coolness  and  hearing  its  gentle  murmurs.  Thither, 
amidst  the  heats  of  summer,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
Margaret,  Virginia,  Paul,  and  myself,  sometimes 
repaired,  to  dine  beneath  the  shadow  of  this  rock. 
Virginia,  who  always,  in  her  most  ordinary  actions, 
was  mindful  of  the  good  of  others,  never  ate  of  any 
fruit  in  the  fields  without  planting  the  seed  or  kernel 
in  the  ground.  “From  this,”  said  she,  “trees  will 
come,  which  will  yield  their  fruit  to  some  traveller, 
or  at  least  to  some  bird.”  One  day,  having  eaten  of 
the  papaw  fruit  at  the  foot  of  that  rock,  she  planted 
the  seeds  on  the  spot.  Soon  after,  several  papaw- 
trees  sprang  up,  among  which  was  one  with  female 
blossoms,  that  is  to  say,  a fruit-bearing  tree.  This 
tree,  at  the  time  of  Virginia’s  departure,  was  scarcely 
as  high  as  her  knee ; but,  as  it  is  a plant  of  rapid 
growth,  in  the  course  of  two  years  it  had  gained  the 
height  of  twenty  feet,  and  the  upper  part  of  its  stem 
was  encircled  by  several  rows  of  ripe  fruit.  Paul, 
wandering  accidentally  to  the  spot,  was  struck  with 
delight  at  seeing  this  lofty  tree,  which  had  been 
planted  by  his  beloved ; but  the  emotion  was  tran- 
sient, and  instantly  gave  place  to  a deep  melancholy 
at  this  evidence  of  her  long  absence.  The  objects 
which  are  habitually  before  us  do  not  bring  to  our 
minds  an  adequate  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  life ; they 
decline  insensibly  with  ourselves : but  it  is  those  we 
behold  again,  after  having  for  some  years  lost  sight 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


133 


of  them,  that  most  powerfully  impress  us  with  a feel- 
ing of  the  swiftness  with  which  the  tide  of  life  flows 
on.  Paul  was  no  less  overwhelmed  and  affected  at 
the  sight  of  this  great  papaw-tree,  loaded  with  fruit, 
than  is  the  traveller  when,  after  a long  absence  from 
his  own  country,  he  finds  his  contemporaries  no 
more,  but  their  children,  whom  he  left  at  the  breast, 
themselves  now  become  fathers  of  families.  Paul 
sometimes  thought  of  cutting  down  the  tree,  which 
recalled  too  sensibly  the  distracting  remembrance 
of  Virginia’s  prolonged  absence.  At  other  times, 
contemplating  it  as  a monument  of  her  benevolence, 
he  kissed  its  trunk,  and  apostrophized  it  in  terms  of 
the  most  passionate  regret.  Indeed,  I have  myself 
gazed  upon  it  with  more  emotion  and  more  venera- 
tion than  upon  the  triumphal  arches  of  Rome. 
May  nature,  which  every  day  destroys  the  monu- 
ments of  kingly  ambition,  multiply  in  our  forests 
those  which  testify  the  beneficence  of  a poor  young 
girl! 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw-tree  I was  always  sure  to 
meet  with  Paul  when  he  came  into  our  neighborhood. 
One  day  I found  him  there  absorbed  in  melancholy, 
and  a conversation  took  place  between  us,  which  I 
will  relate  to  you,  if  I do  not  weary  you  too  much  by 
my  long  digressions  : they  are  perhaps  pardonable 
to  my  age  and  to  my  last  friendships.  I will  relate 
it  to  you  in  the  form  of  a dialogue,  that  you  may 
form  some  idea  of  the  natural  good  sense  of  this 
young  man.  You  will  easily  distinguish  the 
speakers  from  the  character  of  his  questions  and  of 
my  answers. 


134 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN/ A. 


PAUL. 


“ I am  very  unhappy.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour 
has  now  been  gone  two  years  and  eight  months,  and 
we  have  heard 
no  tidings  of 
her  for  eight 
months  and  a 
half.  She  is 
rich,  and  I am 
poor : she  has 
forgotten  me.  I 
have  a great 
mind  to  follow 
her.  I will  go 
to  France  ; I 
will  serve  the 
king  ; I will 
make  my  for- 
tune ; and  then 
Mademoiselle  de 
la  Tour’s  aunt 
will  bestow  her  niece  upon  me  when  I shall  have  be- 
come a great  lord.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ But,  my  dear  friend,  have  not  you  told  me  that 
you  are  not  of  noble  birth  ? ” 

PAUL. 

My  mother  has  told  me  so;  but,  as  for  myself, 
J know  not  what  noble  birth  means.  I never  per- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,  135 

ceived  that  I had  less  than  others,  or  that  others  had 
more  than  1.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Obscure  birth,  in  France,  shuts  every  door  of 
access  to  great  employments ; nor  can  you  even  be 
received  among  any  distinguished  body  of  men,  if 
you  labor  under  this  disadvantage.” 

PAUL. 

“You  have  often  told  me  that  it  was  one  source  of 
the  greatness  of  France  that  her  humblest  subject 
might  attain  the  highest  honors  ; and  you  have  cited 
to  me  many  instances  of  celebrated  men,  who,  born 
in  a mean  condition,  had  conferred  honor  upon  their 
country.  It  was  your  wish,  then,  by  concealing  the 
truth,  to  stimulate  my  ardor?  ” 

THE  OLD  MAN 

“ Never,  my  son,  would  I lower  it.  I told  you  the 
truth  with  regard  to  the  past ; but  now  everything 
has  undergone  a great  change.  Everything  in  France 
is  now  to  be  obtained  by  interest  alone ; every  place 
and  employment  is  now  become  as  it  were  the  patri- 
mony of  a small  number  of  families,  or  is  divided 
among  public  bodies.  The  king  is  a sun,  and  the 
nobles  and  great  corporate  bodies  surround  him  like 
so  many  clouds  : it  is  almost  impossible  for  any  of 
his  rays  to  reach  you.  Formerly,  under  less  exclu- 
sive administrations,  such  phenomena  have  been 


136 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


seen.  Then  talents  and  merit  showed  themselves 
everywhere,  as  newly  cleared  lands  are  always  loaded 
with  abundance.  But  great  kings,  who  can  really 
form  a just  estimate  of  men,  and  choose  them  with 
judgment,  are  rare.  The  ordinary  race  of  monarchs 
allow 'themselves  to  be  guided  by  the  nobles  and 
people  who  surround  them.” 

PAUL. 

“ But  perhaps  I shall  find  one  of  these  nobles  to 
protect  me.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“To  gain  the  protection  of  the  great,  you  must 
lend  yourself  to  their  ambition,  and  administer  to 
their  pleasures.  You  would  never  succeed;  for,  in 
addition  to  your  obscure  birth,  you  have  too  much 
integrity.” 

PAUL. 

“ But  I will  perform  such  courageous  actions,  I 
will  be  so  faithful  to  my  word,  so  exact  in  the  per- 
formance of  my  duties,  so  zealous  and  so  constant  in 
my  friendships,  that  I will  render  myself  worthy  to  be 
adopted  by  some  one  of  them.  In  the  ancient  his- 
tories you  have  made  me  read,  I have  seen  many 
examples  of  such  adoptions.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Oh,  my  young  friend!  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  even  in  their  decline,  the  nobles  had  some 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


137 


respect  for  virtue : but  out  of  all  the  immense  num- 
ber of  men,  sprung  from  the  mass  of  the  people,  in 
France,  who  have  signalized  themselves  in  every  pos- 
sible manner,  I do  not  recollect  a single  instance  of 
one  being  adopted  by  any  great  family.  If  it  were 
not  for  our  kings,  virtue,  in  our  country,  would  be 
eternally  condemned  as  plebeian.  As  I said  before, 
the  monarch  sometimes,  when  he  perceives  it,  ren- 
ders to  it  due  honor;  but  in  the  present  day,  the 
distinctions  which  should  be  bestowed  on  merit  are 
generally  to  be  obtained  by  money  alone.” 

PAUL. 

“ If  I cannot  find  a nobleman  to  adopt  me,  I will 
seek  to  please  some  public  body.  I will  espouse  its 
interests  and  its  opinions  : I will  make  myself  be- 
loved by  it.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“You  will  act  then  like  other  men?  — you  will 
renounce  your  conscience  to  obtain  a fortune?” 

PAUL. 

“ Oh  no!  I will  never  lend  myself  to  anything  but 
the  truth.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ Instead  of  making  yourself  beloved,  you  would 
become  an  object  of  dislike.  Besides,  public  bodies 
have  never  taken  much  interest  in  the  discovery  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


13S 


truth.  All  opinions  are  nearly  alike  to  ambitious 
men,  provided  only  that  they  themselves  can  gain 
their  ends.” 

PAUL. 

“How  unfortunate  I am!  Everything  bars  my 
progress.  I am  condemned  to  pass  my  life  in  ignoble 
toil,  far  from  Virginia ! ” As  he 
said  this,  he  sighed  deeply. 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ Let  God  be  your  patron 
mankind  the  public  body 
would  serve.  Be  constantl 
attached  to  them  both. 

Families,  corporations, 
nations  and  kings,  have, 
all  of  them,  their  preju- 
dices and  their 
passions ; it  is 
often  necessary 
to  serve  them 
by  the  practice 
of  vice : God 
and  mankind 
at  large  require 
only  the  exer- 
cise of  the  vir- 
tues. 

“ But  why  do  you  wish  to  be  distinguished  from 
other  men?  It  is  hardly  a natural  sentiment,  for,  if 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


139 


all  men  possessed  it,  every  one  would  be  at  constant 
strife  with  his  neighbor.  Be  satisfied  with  fulfilling 
your  duty  in  the  station  in  which  Providence  has 
placed  you : be  grateful  for  your  lot,  which  permits 
you  to  enjoy  the  blessing  of  a quiet  conscience,  and 
which  does  not  compel  you,  like  the  great,  to  let  your 
happiness  rest  on  the  opinion  of  the  little,  or,  like 
the  little,  to  cringe  to  the  great,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
means  of  existence.  You  are  now  placed  in  a coun- 
try and  a condition  in  which  you  are  not  reduced  to 
deceive  or  to  flatter  any  one,  or  to  debase  yourself, 
as  the  greater  part  of  those  who  seek  their  fortune  in 
Europe  are  obliged  to  do ; in  which  the  exercise  of 
no  virtue  is  forbidden  you  ; in  which  you  may  be, 
with  impunity,  good,  sincere,  well  informed,  patient, 
temperate,  chaste,  indulgent  to  others’  faults,  pious, 
and  no  shaft  of  ridicule  be  aimed  at  you  to  destroy 
your  wisdom,  as  yet  only  in  its  bud.  Heaven  has 
given  you  liberty,  health,  a good  conscience,  and 
friends  : kings  themselves,  whose  favor  you  desire, 
are  not  so  happy.” 


PAUL. 

“ Ah  ! I want  only  to  have  Virginia  with  me  : with- 
out her  I have  nothing, — with  her,  I should  possess 
all  my  desire.  She  alone  is  to  me  birth,  glory,  and 
fortune.  But,  since  her  relation  will  only  give  her  to 
some  one  with  a great  name,  I will  study.  By  the  aid 
of  study  and  of  books,  learning  and  celebrity  are  to  be 
attained.  I w*ill  become  a man  of  science  : I will  ren- 
der my  knowledge  useful  to  the  service  of  my  coun- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN/ A. 


1 40 

try,  without  injuring  any  one,  or  owning  dependence 
on  any  one.  I will  become  celebrated,  and  my  glory 
shall  be  achieved  only  by  myself.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ My  son,  talents  are  a gift  yet  more  rare  than 
either  birth  or  riches,  and  undoubtedly  they  are  a 
greater  good  than  either,  since  they  can  never  be 
taken  away  from  us,  and  that  they  obtain  for  us 
everywhere  public  esteem.  But  they  may  be  said  to 
be  worth  all  that  they  cost  us.  They  are  seldom 
acquired  but  by  every  species  of  privation,  by  the 
possession  of  exquisite  sensibility,  which  often  pro- 
duces inward  unhappiness,  and  which  exposes  us 
without  to  the  malice  and  persecutions  of  our  con- 
temporaries. The  lawyer  envies  not,  in  France,  the 
glory  of  the  soldier,  nor  does  the  soldier  envy  that 
of  the  naval  officer ; but  they  will  all  oppose  you, 
and  bar  your  progress  to  distinction,  because  your 
assumption  of  superior  ability  will  wound  the  self- 
love  of  them  all.  You  say  that  you  will  do  good  to 
men ; but  recollect,  that  he  who  makes  the  earth 
produce  a single  ear  of  corn  more,  renders  them  a 
greater  service  than  he  who  writes  a book.” 

PAUL. 

“ Oh ! she,  then,  who  planted  this  papaw-tree,  has 
made  a more  useful  and  more  grateful  present  to  the 
inhabitants  of  these  forests  than  if  she  had  given 
them  a whole  library.”  So  saying,  he  threw  his  arms 
round  the  tree,  and  kissed  it  with  transport. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


141 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

‘‘  The  best  of  books,  — that  which  preaches  noth- 
ing but  equality,  brotherly  love,  charity,  and  peace, 
— the  Gospel,  has 
served  as  a pretext, 
during  many  centu- 
ries, for  Europeans 
to  let  loose  all  their 
fury.  How  many 
tyrannies,  both  pub- 
lic and  private,  are 
still  practised  in  its 
name  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  ! After  this, 
who  will  dare  to  flat- 
ter himself  that  any- 
thing he  can  write 
will  be  of  service  to 
his  fellow-men  ? Re- 
member the  fate  of 
most  of  the  philos- 
ophers who  have 
preached  to  them  wisdom  Homer,  who  clothed 
it  in  such  noble  verse,  asked  for  alms  all  his  life. 
Socrates,  whose  conversation  and  example  gave  such 
admirable  lessons  to  the  Athenians,  was  sentenced 
by  them  to  be  poisoned.  His  sublime  disciple,  Plato, 
was  delivered  over  to  slavery  by  the  order  of  the 
very  prince  who  protected  him  ; and,  before  them, 
Pythagoras,  whose  humanity  extended  even  to  ani- 
mals, was  burned  alive  by  the  Crotoniates.  What 


142 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


do  I say  ? — many  even  of  these  illustrious  names 
have  descended  to  us  disfigured  by  some  traits  of 
satire  by  which  they  became  characterized,  human 
ingratitude  taking  pleasure  in  thus  recognizing  them  ; 
and  if,  in  the  crowd,  the  glory  of  some  names  is  come 
down  to  us  without  spot  or  blemish,  we  shall  find  that 
they  who  have  borne  them  have  lived  far  from  the 
society  of  their  contemporaries  ; like  those  statues 
which  are  found  entire  beneath  the  soil  in  Greece 
and  Italy,  and  which,  by  being  hidden  in  the  bosom 
of  the  earth,  have  escaped,  uninjured,  from  the  fury 
of  the  barbarians. 

“You  see,  then,  that  to  acquire  the  glory  which  a 
turbulent  literary  career  can  give  you,  you  must  not 
only  be  virtuous,  but  ready,  if  necessary,  to  sacrifice 
life  itself.  But,  after  all,  do  not  fancy  that  the  great 
in  France  trouble  themselves  about  such  glory  as 
this.  Little  do  they  care  for  literary  men,  whose 
knowledge  brings  them  neither  honors,  nor  power, 
nor  even  admission  at  court.  Persecution,  it  is  true, 
is  rarely  practised  in  this  age,  because  it  is  habitually 
indifferent  to  everything  except  wealth  and  luxury ; 
but  knowledge  and  virtue  no  longer  lead  to  distinc- 
tion, since  everything  in  the  state  is  to  be  purchased 
with  money.  Formerly,  men  of  letters  were  certain 
of  reward  by  some  place  in  the  church,  the  magis- 
tracy, or  the  administration : now,  they  are  consid- 
ered good  for  nothing  but  to  write  books.  But  this 
fruit  of  their  minds,  little  valued  by  the  world  at 
large,  is  still  worthy  of  its  celestial  origin.  For  these 
books  is  reserved  the  privilege  of  shedding  lustre  on 
obscure  virtue,  of  consoling  the  unhappy,  of  enlight- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


143 


ening  nations,  and  of  telling  the  truth  even  to  kings. 
This  is,  unquestionably,  the  most  august  commission 
with  which  Heaven  can  honor  a mortal  upon  this 
earth.  Where  is  the  author  who  would  not  be  con- 
soled for  the  injustice  or  contempt  of  those  who  are 
the  dispensers  of  the  ordinary  gifts  of  fortune,  when 
he  reflects  that  his  work  may  pass  from  age  to  age, 
from  nation  to  nation,  opposing  a barrier  to  error  and 
to  tyranny ; and  that,  from  amidst  the  obscurity  in 
which  he  has  lived,  there  will  shine  forth  a glory 
which  will  efface  that  of  the  common  herd  of  mon- 
archs,  the  monuments  of  whose  deeds  perish  in 
oblivion,  notwithstanding  the  flatterers  who  erect  and 
magnify  them  ? ” 


PAUL. 

“Ah!  I am  only  covetous  of  glory  to  bestow  it  on 
Virginia,  and  render  her  dear  to  the  whole  world. 
But  can  you,  who  know  so  much,  tell  me  whether 
we  shall  ever  be  married  ? I should  like  to  be  a very 
learned  man,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  knowing  what 
will  come  to  pass.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Who  would  live,  my  son,  if  the  future  were 
revealed  to  him  ? — when  a single  anticipated  mis- 
fortune gives  us  so  much  useless  uneasiness  — when 
the  foreknowledge  of  one  certain  calamity  is  enough 
to  embitter  every  day  that  precedes  it ! It  is  better 
not  to  pry  too  curiously,  even  into  the  things  which 
surround  us.  Heaven,  which  has  given  us  the  power 


144 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


of  reflection  to  foresee  our  necessities,  gave  us  also 
those  very  necessities  to  set  limits  to  its  exercise.” 

PAUL. 

“You  tell  me  that  with  money  people  in  Europe 
acquire  dignities  and  honors.  I will  go,  then,  to 
enrich  myself  in  Bengal.,  and  afterwards  proceed  to 
Paris,  and  marry  Virginia.  I will  embark  at  once.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ What ! would  you  leave  her  mother  and  yours  ? ” 
PAUL. 

“ Why,  you  yourself  have  advised  my  going  to  the 
Indies.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Virginia  was  then  here;  but  you  are  now  the 
only  means  of  support  both  of  her  mother  and  of 
your  own.” 

PAUL. 

“ Virginia  will  assist  them,  by  means  of  her  rich 
relation.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ The  rich  care  little  for  those  from  whom  no 
honor  is  reflected  upon  themselves  in  the  world. 
Many  of  them  have  relations  much  more  to  be  pitied 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


I4S 

than  Madame  de  la  Tour,  who,  for  want  of  their 
assistance,  sacrifice  their  liberty  for  bread,  and  pass 
their  lives  immured  within  the  walls  of  a convent.” 

PAUL. 

“Oh,  what  a country  is  Europe!  Virginia  must 
come  back  here.  What  need  has  she  of  a rich  rela- 
tion ? She  was  so  happy  in  these  huts ; she  looked 
so  beautiful  and  so  well  dressed  with  a red  handker- 
chief or  a few  flowers  round  her  head ! Return, 
Virginia ! leave  your  sumptuous  mansions  and  your 
grandeur,  and  come  back  to  these  rocks  — to  the 
shade  of  these  woods  and  of  our  cocoa-trees.  Alas! 
you  are  perhaps  even  now  unhappy  ! ” — and  he 
began  to  shed  tears.  “ My  father,”  continued  he, 
“hide  nothing  from  me:  if  you  cannot  tell  me 
whether  I shall  marry  Virginia,  tell  me  at  least  if 
she  loves  me  still,  surrounded  as  she  is  by  noblemen 
who  speak  to  the  king,  and  who  go  to  see  her.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ Oh,  my  dear  friend  ! I am  sure,  for  many  reasons, 
that  she  loves  you ; but  above  all,  because  she  is 
virtuous.”  At  these  words  he  threw  himself  on  my 
neck  in  a transport  of  joy. 

PAUL. 

“ But  do  you  think  that  the  women  of  Europe  are 
false,  as  they  are  represented  in  the  comedies  and 
books  which  you  have  lent  me  ? ” 


146 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Women  are  false  in  those  countries  where  men 
are  tyrants.  Violence  always  engenders  a disposi- 
tion to  deceive.” 


PAUL. 

“ In  what  way  can  men  tyrannize  over  women  ?” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ In  giving  them  in  marriage  without  consulting 
their  inclinations  : — in  uniting  a young  girl  to  an 
old  man,  or  a woman  of  sensibility  to  a frigid  and 
indifferent  husband.” 


PAUL. 

“Why  not  join  together  those  who  are  suited  to 
each  other,  — the  young  to  the  young,  and  lovers 
to  those  they  love?” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ Because  few  young  men  in  France  have  property 
enough  to  support  them  when  they  are  married,  and 
cannot  acquire  it  till  the  greater  part  of  their  life  is 
passed.  While  young,  they  seduce  the  wives  of 
others,  and  when  they  are  old,  they  cannot  secure 
the  affections  of  their  own.  At  first,  they  them- 
selves are  deceivers  ; and  afterwards,  they  are  de- 
ceived in  their  turn.  This  is  one  of  the  re-actions  of 


PAUL  ANB  VIRGINIA. 


147 


that  eternal  justice  by  which  the  world  is  governed : 
an  excess  on  one  side  is  sure  to  be  balanced  by  one 
on  the  other.  Thus,  the  greater  part  of  Europeans 


pass  their  lives  in  this  twofold  irregularity,  which 
increases  everywhere,  in  the  same  proportion  that 
wealth  is  accumulated  in  the  hands  of  a few  individ- 
uals. Society  is  like  a garden,  where  shrubs  cannot 
grow  if  they  are  overshadowed  by  lofty  trees : but 
there  is  this  wide  difference  between  them,  — that  the 
beauty  of  a garden  may  result  from  the  admixture  of 
a small  number  of  forest  trees,  while  the  prosperity 
of  a state  depends  on  the  multitude  and  equality  of 
its  citizens,  and  not  on  a small  number  of  very  rich 
men.” 


PAUL. 

“ But  where  is  the  necessity  for  being  rich  in  order 
to  marry  ? ” 


148 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ In  order  to  pass  through  life  in  abundance,  with- 
out being  obliged  to  work.” 

PAUL. 

“But  why  not  work?  I am  sure  I work  hard 
enough.” 

THE  OLD  MAN. 

“ In  Europe,  working  with  your  hands  is  con- 
sidered a degradation : it  is  compared  to  the  labor 
performed  by  a machine.  The  occupation  of  culti- 
vating the  earth  is  the  most  despised  of  all.  Even 
an  artisan  is  held  in  more  estimation  than  a peas- 
ant.” 


PAUL. 

“ What ! do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  art  which 
furnishes  food  for  mankind  is  despised  in  Europe? 
I hardly  understand  you.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Oh!  it  is  impossible  for  a person  educated  ac- 
cording to  nature  to  form  an  idea  of  the  depraved 
state  of  society.  It  is  easy  to  form  a precise  notion 
of  order,  but  not  of  disorder.  Beauty,  virtue,  happi- 
ness, have  all  their  defined  proportions : deformity, 
vice,  and  misery  have  none.” 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


149 


PAUL. 

“The  rich  then  are  always  very  happy!  They 
meet  with  no  obstacles  to  the  fulfilment  of  their 
wishes,  and  they  can  lavish  happiness  on  those 
whom  they  love.” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“Far  from  it,  my  son!  They  are,  for  the  most 
part,  satiated  with  pleasure,  for  this  very  reason  — 
that  it  costs  them  no  trouble.  Have  you  never  your- 
self experienced  how  much  the  pleasure  of  repose  is 
increased  by  fatigue ; that  of  eating,  by  hunger ; 01 
that  of  drinking,  by  thirst?  The  pleasure  also  of  lov- 
ing and  being  beloved  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  innu- 
merable privations  and  sacrifices.  Wealth,  by  antici- 
pating all  their  necessities,  deprives  its  possessors  ol 
all  these  pleasures.  To  this  ennui,  consequent  upon 
satiety,  may  also  be  added  the  pride  which  springs 
from  their  opulence,  and  which  is  wounded  by  the 
most  trifling  privation,  when  the  greatest  enjoyments 
have  ceased  to  charm.  The  perfume  of  a thousand 
roses  gives  pleasure  but  for  a moment ; but  the  pain 
occasioned  by  a single  thorn  endures  long  after  the 
infliction  of  the  wound.  A single  evil  in  the  midst 
of  their  pleasures  is  to  the  rich  like  a thorn  among 
flowers ; to  the  poor,  on  the  contrary,  one  pleasure 
amidst  all  their  troubles  is  a flower  among  a wilder- 
ness of  thorns  ; they  have  a most  lively  enjoyment  of 
it.  The  effect  of  everything  is  increased  by  contrast ; 
nature  has  balanced  all  things.  Which  condition, 
after  all,  do  you  consider  preferable,  — to  have 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


150 

scarcely  anything  to  hope  and  everything  to  fear,  or 
to  have  everything  to  hope  and  nothing  to  fear? 
The  former  condition  is  that  of  the  rich,  the  latter 
that  of  the  poor.  But  either  of  these  extremes  is 
with  difficulty  supported  by  man,  whose  happiness 
consists  in  a middle  station  of  life,  in  union  with 
virtue.” 

PAUL. 

“ What  do  you  understand  by  virtue?” 


THE  OLD  MAN. 

“To  you,  my  son,  who  support  your  family  by 
your  labor,  it  need  hardly  be  defined.  Virtue  con- 
sists in  endeavoring  to  do  all  the  good  we  can  to 
others,  with  an  ultimate  intention  of  pleasing  God 
alone.” 


PAUL. 

“ Oh  ! how  virtuous,  then,  is  Virginia!  Virtue  led 
her  to  seek  for  riches,  that  she  might  practise  benev- 
olence. Virtue  induced  her  to  quit  this  island,  and 
virtue  will  bring  her  back  to  it.” 

The  idea  of  her  speedy  return  firing  the  imagina- 
tion of  this  young  man,  all  his  anxieties  suddenly 
vanished.  Virginia,  he  was  persuaded,  had  not  writ- 
ten, because  she  would  soon  arrive.  It  took  so  little 
time  to  come  from  Europe  with  a fair  wind  I Then 
he  enumerated  the  vessels  which  had  made  this  pas- 
sage of  four  thousand  five  hundred  leagues  in  less  than 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


151 

three  months ; and  perhaps  the  vessel  in  which  Vir- 
ginia had  embarked  might  not  be  more  than  two. 
Shipbuilders  were  now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors  were 


so  expert!  He  then  talked  to  me  of. the  arrange- 
ments he  intended  to  make  for  her  reception,  of  the 
new  house  he  would  build  for  her,  and  of  the  pleas- 
ures and  surprises  which  he  would  contrive  for  her 
every  day,  when  she  was  his  wife.  His  wife ! The 
idea  filled  him  with  ecstasy.  “At  least,  my  dear 
father,”  said  he,  “ you  shall  then  do  no  more  work 
than  you  please.  As  Virginia  will  be  rich,  we  shall 


152  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

have  plenty  of  negroes,  and  they  shall  work  for  you. 
You  shall  always  live  with  us,  and  have  no  other 
care  than  to  amuse  yourself  and  be  happy;”  — and, 
his  heart  throbbing  with  joy,  he  flew  to  communicate 
these  exquisite  anticipations  to  his  family. 

In  a short  time,  however,  these  enchanting  hopes 
were  succeeded  by  the  most  cruel  apprehensions.  It 
is  always  the  effect  of  violent  passions  to  throw  the 
soul  into  opposite  extremes.  Paul  returned  the  next 
day  to  my  dwelling,  overwhelmed  with  melancholy, 
and  said  to  me, — “ I hear  nothing  from  Virginia. 
Had  she  left  Europe,  she  would  have  written  me  word 
of  her  departure.  Ah  ! the  reports  which  I have  heard 
concerning  her  are  but  too  well  founded.  Her  aunt 
has  married  her  to  some  great  lord.  She,  like  others, 
has  been  undone  by  the  love  of  riches.  In  those 
books  which  paint  women  so  well,  virtue  is  treated 
but  as  a subject  of  romance.  If  Virginia  had  been 
virtuous,  she  would  never  have  forsaken  her  mother 
and  me.  I do  nothing  but  think  of  her,  and  she  has 
forgotten  me.  I am  wretched,  and  she  is  diverting 
herself.  The  thought  distracts  me : I cannot  bear 
myself!  Would  to  Heaven  that  war  were  declared 
in  India  ! I would  go  there  and  die.” 

“My  son,”  I answered,  “that  courage  which 
prompts  us  on  to  court  death  is  but  the  courage  of 
a moment,  and  is  often  excited  only  by  the  vain 
applause  of  men,  or  by  the  hope  of  posthumous 
renown.  There  is  another  description  of  courage, 
rarer  and  more  necessary,  which  enables  us  to  sup- 
port, without  witness  and  without  applause,  the  vex- 
ations of  life  : this  virtue  is  patience.  Relying  for 


PAUL  AJVD  VIRGINIA. 


IS3 

support,  not  upon  the  opinions  of  others,  or  upon  the 
impulse  of  the  passions,  but  upon  the  will  of  God, 
patience  is  the  courage  of  virtue.” 

“Ah!”  cried  he,  “I  am  then  without  virtue! 
Everything  overwhelms  me  and  drives  me  to  de- 
spair.”— “Equal,  constant,  and  invariable  virtue,” 
I replied,  “ belongs  not  to  man.  In  the  midst  of  the 
many  passions  which  agitate  us,  our  reason  is  disor- 
dered and  obscured : but  there  is  an  ever-burning 
lamp  at  which  we  can  rekindle  its  flame ; and  that 
is,  literature. 

“ Literature,  my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of  Heaven,  — 
a ray  of  that  wisdom  by  which  the  universe  is  gov- 
erned, and  which  man,  inspired  by  a celestial  intelli- 
gence, has  drawn  down  to  earth.  Like  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  it  enlightens  us,  it  rejoices  us,  it  warms  us 
with  a heavenly  flame,  and  seems,  in  some  sort  like 
the  element  of  fire,  to  bend  all  nature  to  our  use. 
By  its  means  we  are  enabled  to  bring  around  us  all 
things,  all  places,  all  men,  and  all  times.  It  assists 
us  to  regulate  our  manners  and  our  life.  By  its  aid, 
too,  our  passions  are  calmed,  vice  is  suppressed,  and 
virtue  encouraged  by  the  memorable  examples  of 
great  and  good  men  which  it  has  handed  down  to  us, 
and  whose  time-honored  images  it  ever  brings  before 
our  eyes.  Literature  is  a daughter  of  Heaven,  who 
has  descended  upon  earth  to  soften  and  to  charm 
away  all  the  evils  of  the  human  race.  The  greatest 
writers  have  ever  appeared  in  the  worst  times,  — in 
times  in  which  society  can  hardly  be  held  together,  — 
the  times  of  barbarism  and  every  species  of  depravity. 
My  son,  literature  has  consoled  an  infinite  number  of 


^54 


PACTL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


men  more  unhappy  than  yourself : Xenophon,  ban- 
ished from  his  country  after  having  saved  to  her  ten 
thousand  of  her  sons ; Scipio  Africanus,  wearied  to 
death  by  the  calumnies  of  the  Romans ; Lucullus, 
tormented  by  their  cabals ; and  Catinat,  by  the  in- 
gratitude of  a court.  The  Greeks,  with  their  never- 
failing  ingenuity,  assigned  to  each  of  the  Muses  a 
portion  of  the  great  circle  of  human  intelligence  for 
her  especial  superintendence  ; we  ought,  in  the  same 
manner,  to  give  up  to  them  the  regulation  of  our  pas- 
sions, to  bring  them  under  proper  restraint.  Litera- 
ture, in  this  imaginative  guise,  would  thus  fulfil,  in 
relation  to  the  powers  of  the  soul,  the  same  functions 
as  the  Hours,  who  yoked  and  conducted  the  chariot 
of  the  Sun. 

“Have  recourse  to  your  books,  then,  my  son. 
The  wise  men  who  have  written  before  our  days  are 
travellers  who  have  preceded  us  in  the  paths  of  mis- 
fortune, and  who  stretch  out  a friendly  hand  towards 
us,  and  invite  us  to  join  their  society,  when  we  are 
abandoned  by  everything  else.  A good  book  is  a 
good  friend.” 

“ Ah !”  cried  Paul,  “ I stood  in  no  need  of  books 
when  Virginia  was  here,  and  she  had  studied  as  little 
as  myself : but  when  she  looked  at  me  and  called  me 
her  friend,  I could  not  feel  unhappy.” 

“Undoubtedly,”  said  I,  “there  is  no  friend  so 
agreeable  as  a mistress  by  whom  we  are  beloved. 
There  is,  moreover,  in  woman  a liveliness  and  gayety 
which  powerfully  tend  to  dissipate  the  melancholy 
feelings  of  man : her  presence  drives  away  the  dark 
phantoms  of  imagination  produced  by  over-reflection. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


155 


Upon  her  countenance  sit  soft  attraction  and  tender 
confidence.  What  joy  is  not  heightened  when  it  is 
shared  by  her?  What  brow  is  not  unbent  by  her 
smiles?  What  anger  can  resist  her  tears?  Vir- 
ginia will  return  with  more  philosophy  than  you,  and 
will  be  quite  surprised  to  find  the  garden  so  unfin- 
ished ; — she  who  could  think  of  its  embellishments 
in  spite  of  all  the  persecutions  of  her  aunt,  and  when 
far  from  her  mother  and  from  you.” 

The  idea  of  Virginia’s  speedy  return  reanimated 
the  drooping  spirits  of  her  lover,  and  he  resumed  his 
rural  occupations,  happy  amidst  his  toils,  in  the  re- 
flection that  they  would  soon  find  a termination  so 
dear  to  the  wishes  of  his  heart. 

One  morning,  at  break  of  day  (it  was  the  24th  De- 
cember, 1744),  Paul  when  he  arose  perceived  a white 
flag  hoisted  upon  the  Mountain  of  Discovery.  This 
flag  he  knew  to  be  the  signal  of  a vessel  descried  at 
sea.  He  instantly  flew  to  the  town  to  learn  if  this 
vessel  brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia,  and  waited 
there  till  the  return  of  the  pilot,  who  was  gone,  ac- 
cording to  custom,  to  board  the  ship.  The  pilot  did 
not  return  till  the  evening,  when  he  brought  the  Gov- 
ernor information  that  the  signalled  vessel  was  the 
Saint-Geran,  of  seven  hundred  tons  burthen,  and 
commanded  by  a captain  of  the  name  of  Aubin ; 
that  she  was  now  four  leagues  out  at  sea,  but  would 
probably  anchor  at  Port  Louis  the  following  after- 
noon, if  the  wind  became  fair : at  present  there  was 
a calm.  The  pilot  then  handed  to  the  Governor  a 
number  of  letters  which  the  Saint-Geran  had  brought 
from  France,  among  which  was  one  addressed  to 


IS6  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  in  the  handwriting  of  Virginia. 
Paul  seized  upon  the  letter,  kissed  it  with  transport, 
and,  placing  it  in  his  bosom,  flew  to  the  plantation. 
No  sooner  did  he  perceive  from  a distance  the  family, 
who  were  awaiting  his  return  upon  the  Rock  of 
Adieus,  than  he  waved  the  letter  aloft  in  the  air, 
without  being  able  to  utter  a word.  No  sooner  was 
the  seal  broken,  than  they  all  crowded  round  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour,  to  hear  the  letter  read.  Virginia  in- 
formed her  mother  that  she  had  experienced  much  ill- 
usage  from  her  aunt,  who,  after  having  in  vain  urged 
her  to  a marriage  against  her  inclinations,  had  disin- 
herited her,  and  had  sent  her  back  at  a time  when 
she  would  probably  reach  the  Mauritius  during  the 
hurricane  season.  In  vain,  she  added,  had  she  en- 
deavored to  soften  her  aunt,  by  representing  what 
she  owed  to  her  mother,  and  to  her  early  habits : 
she  was  treated  as  a romantic  girl,  whose  head  had 
been  turned  by  novels.  She  could  now  only  think  of 
the  joy  of  again  seeing  and  embracing  her  beloved 
family,  and  would  have  gratified  her  ardent  desire 
at  once  by  landing  in  the  pilot’s  boat,  i£  the  captain 
had  allowed  her ; but  that  he  had  objected,  on  ac- 
count of  the  distance,  and  of  a heavy  swell,  which, 
notwithstanding  the  calm,  reigned  in  the  open 
sea. 

As  soon  as  the  letter  was  finished,  the  whole  of 
the  family,  transported  with  joy,  repeatedly  exclaimed, 
“Virginia  is  arrived  !”  and  mistresses  and  servants 
embraced  each  other.  Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to 
Paul,  — “My  son,  go  and  inform  our  neighbor  of 
Virginia’s  arrival.”  Domingo  immediately  lighted  a 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


157 


torch  of  bois  de  ronde,  and  he  and  Paul  bent  their 
way  towards  my  dwelling. 

It  was  about  ten  o’clock  at  night,  and  I was  just 
going  to  extinguish  my  lamp  and  retire  to  rest,  when 
I perceived  through  the  pali- 
sades round  my  cottage  a 
light  in  the  woods.  Soon 
after,  I heard  the  voice  of 
Paul  calling  me.  I instantly 
arose,  and  had  hardly  dressed 
myself,  when  Paul,  almost 
beside  himself,  and  panting 
for  breath,  sprang  on  my 
neck,  crying — “ Come  along, 
come  along ! Virginia  is 
arrived.  Let  us  go  to  the 
port : the  vessel  will  anchor 
at  break  of  day.” 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered 
the  words,  when  we  set  ofif. 

As  we  were  passing  through 
the  woods  of  the  Sloping 
Mountain,  and  were  already 
on  the  road  which  leads  from 
the  Shaddock  Grove  to  the 
port,  I heard  some  one  walk- 
ing behind  us.  It  proved  to  __ 

be  a negro,  and  he  was  ad- 
vancing with  hasty  steps.  When  he  had 
us,  I asked  him  whence  he  came,  and 
he  was  going  with  such  expedition.  He  answered, 
— “I  come  from  that  part  of  the  island  called  Golden 


reached 

whither 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN/ A. 


158 

Dust ; and  am  sent  to  the  port,  to  inform  the  Gov- 
ernor that  a ship  from  France  has  anchored  under 
the  Isle  of  Amber.  She  is  firing  guns  of  distress, 
for  the  sea  is  very  rough.”  Having  said  this,  the 
man  left  us,  and  pursued  his  journey  without  any 
further  delay. 

I then  said  to  Paul,  — “ Let  us  go  towards  the 
quarter  of  the  Golden  Dust,  and  meet  Virginia  there. 
It  is  not  more  than  three  leagues  from  hence.”  We 
accordingly  bent  our  course  towards  the  northern 
part  of  the  island.  The  heat  was  suffocating.  The 
moon  had  risen,  and  was  surrounded  by  three  large 
black  circles.  A frightful  darkness  shrouded  the  sky  ; 
but  the  frequent  flashes  of  lightning  discovered  to  us 
long  rows  of  thick  and  gloomy  clouds,  hanging  very 
low,  and  heaped  together  over  the  centre  of  the 
island,  being  driven  in  with  great  rapidity  from  the 
ocean,  although  not  a breath  of  air  was  perceptible 
upon  the  land.  As  we  walked  along,  we  thought  we 
heard  peals  of  thunder ; but  on  listening  more  atten- 
tively, we  perceived  that  it  was  the  sound  of  cannon 
at  a distance,  repeated  by  the  echoes.  These  omin- 
ous sounds,  joined  to  the  tempestuous  aspect  of  the 
heavens,  made  me  shudder.  I had  little  doubt  of 
their  being  signals  of  distress  from  a ship  in  danger. 
In  about  half  an  hour  the  firing  ceased,  and  I found 
the  silence  still  more  appalling  than  the  dismal 
sounds  which  had  preceded  it. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a word,  or  daring 
to  communicate  to  each  other  our  mutual  apprehen- 
sions. At  midnight,  by  great  exertion,  we  arrived 
at  the  seashore,  in  that  part  of  the  island  called 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


159 


Golden  Dust.  The  billows  were  breaking  against 
the  beach  with  a horrible  noise,  covering  the  rocks 
and  the  strand  with  foam  of  a dazzling  whiteness, 
blended  with  sparks  of  fire.  By  these  phosphoric 
gleams  we  distinguished,  notwithstanding  the  dark- 
ness, a number  of  fishing  canoes,  drawn  up  high 
upon  the  beach. 

At  the  entrance  of  a wood,  a short  distance  from 
us,  we  saw  a hre,  round  which  a party  of  the  inhabit- 
ants was  assembled.  We  repaired  thither,  in  order 
to  rest  ourselves  till  the  morning.  While  we  were 
seated  near  this  fire,  one  of  the  standers-by  related, 
that  late  in  the  afternoon  he  had  seen  a vessel  in  the 
open  sea,  driven  towards  the  island  by  the  currents ; 
that  the  night  had  hidden  it  from  his  view ; and  that 
two  hours  after  sunset  he  had  heard  the  firing  of 
signal-guns  of  distress,  but  that  the  surf  was  so  high 
that  it  was  impossible  to  launch  a boat  to  go  off  to 
her ; that  a short  time  after,  he  thought  he  perceived 
the  glimmering  of  the  watch-lights  on  board  the 
vessel,  which  he  feared,  by  its  having  approached  so 
near  the  coast,  had  steered  between  the  main  land 
and  the  little  island  of  Amber,  mistaking  the  latter 
for  the  Point  of  Endeavor,  near  which  vessels  pass 
in  order  to  gain  Port  Louis  ; and  that,  if  this  were 
the  case,  which,  however,  he  would  not  take  upon 
himself  to  be  certain  of,  the  ship,  he  thought,  was  in 
very  great  danger.  Another  islander  then  informed 
us,  that  he  had  frequently  crossed  the  channel  which 
separates  the  Isle  of  Amber  from  the  coast,  and  had 
sounded  it;  that  the  anchorage  was  very  good,  and 
that  the  ship  would  there  lie  as  safely  as  in  the  best 


i6o 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


harbor.  “ I would  stake  all  I am  worth  upon  it,” 
said  he,  “and  if  I were  on  board,  I should  sleep  as 
sound  as  on  shore.”  A third  bystander  declared 
that  it  was  impossible  for  the  ship  to  enter  that 
channel,  which  was  scarcely  navigable  for  a boat. 
He  was  certain,  he  said,  that  he  had  seen  the  vessel 
at  anchor  beyond  the  Isle  of  Amber ; so  that,  if  the 
wind  arose  in  the  morning,  she  could  either  put 
to  sea  or  gain  the  harbor.  Other  inhabitants  gave 
different  opinions  upon  this  subject,  which  they  con- 
tinued to  discuss  in  the  usual  desultory  manner  of 
the  indolent  creoles.  Paul  and  I observed  a pro- 
found silence.  We  remained  on  this  spot  till  break 
of  day,  but  the  weather  was  too  hazy  to  admit  of  our 
distinguishing  any  object  at  sea,  ev^erything  being 
covered  with  fog.  All  we  could  descry  to  seaward 
was  a dark  cloud,  which  they  told  us  was  the  Isle  of 
Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a quarter  of  a league  from 
the  coast.  On  this  gloomy  day  we  could  only  discern 
the  point  of  land  on  which  we  were  standing,  and  the 
peaks  of  some  inland  mountains  which  started  out 
occasionally  from  the  midst  of  the  clouds  that  hung 
around  them. 

At  about  seven  in  the  morning  we  heard  the  sound 
of  drums  in  the  woods  : it  announced  the  approach 
of  the  Governor,  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  who 
soon  after  arrived  on  horseback,  at  the  head  of  a 
detachment  of  soldiers  armed  with  muskets,  and  a 
crowd  of  islanders  and  negroes.  He  drew  up  his 
soldiers  upon  the  beach,  and  ordered  them  to  make 
a general  discharge.  This  was  no  sooner  done,  than 
we  perceived  a glimmering  light  upon  the  water. 


PAUL  AND  VI PG  INI  A. 


i6i 


which  was  instantly  followed  by  the  report  of  a can- 
non. We  judged  that  the  ship  was  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, and  all  ran  towards  that  part  whence  the  light 
and  sound  proceeded.  We  now  discerned  through 

the  fog  the  hull  and 
yards  of  a large 
vessel.  We  were 
so  near  to  her 
that,  notwith- 
standinof  the 


tumult  of  the  waves,  we  could  distinctly  hear  the 
whistle  of  the  boatswain  and  the  shouts  of  the  sailors, 
who  cried  out  three  times,  Vive  le  roi  ! this  being 
the  cry  of  the  French  in  extreme  danger,  as  well  as  in 
exuberant  joy  ; — as  though  they  wished  to  call  their 


i62 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN/ A. 


prince  to  their  aid,  or  to  testify  to  him  that  they  are 
prepared  to  lay  down  their  lives  in  his  service. 

As  soon  as  the  Saint-Geran  perceived  that  we  were 
near  enough  to  render  her  assistance,  she  continued 
to  fire  guns  regularly  at  intervals  of  three  minutes. 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  caused  great  fires  to  be 
lighted  at  certain  distances  upon  the  strand,  and  sent 
to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood  in  search 
of  provisions,  planks,  cables,  and  empty  barrels.  A 
number  of  people  soon  arrived,  accompanied  by  their 
negroes  loaded  with  provisions  and  cordage,  which 
they  had  brought  from  the  plantations  of  Golden  Dust, 
from  the  district  of  La  Flaque,  and  from  the  river  of 
the  Rampart.  One  of  the  most  aged  of  these  planters, 
approaching  the  Governor,  said  to  him, — “We  have 
heard  all  night  hollow  noises  in  the  mountain  ; in  the 
woods,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  are  shaken,  although 
there  is  no  wind  ; the  sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the 
land : it  is  certain  that  all  these  signs  announce  a 
hurricane.”  “Well,  my  friends,”  answered  the  Gov- 
ernor, “we  are  prepared  for  it,  and  no  doubt  the 
vessel  is  also.” 

Everything,  indeed,  presaged  the  near  approach  of 
the  hurricane.  The  centre  of  the  clouds  in  the  zenith 
was  of  a dismal  black,  while  their  skirts  were  tinged 
with  a copper-colored  hue.  The  air  resounded  with 
the  cries  of  tropic-birds,  petrels,  frigate-birds  and  in- 
numerable other  sea-fowl  which,  notwithstanding  the 
obscurity  of  the  atmosphere,  were  seen  coming  from 
every  point  of  the  horizon  to  seek  for  shelter  in  the 
island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  in  the  direc- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


163 


tion  of  the  ocean  the  most  terrific  noise,  like  the 
sound  of  thunder  mingled  with  that  of  torrents  rush- 
ing dowh  the  steeps  of  lofty  mountains.  A general 
cry  was  heard  of,  “ There  is  the  hurricane  ! — and  the 
next  moment  a frightful  gust  of  wind  dispelled  the  fog 
which  covered  the  Isle  of  Amber  and  its  channel. 


The  Saint-Geran  then  presented  herself  to  our  view, 
her  deck  crowded  with  people,  her  yards  and  top- 
masts lowered  down,  and  her  flag  half-mast  high, 
moored  by  four  cables  at  her  bow  and  one  at  her 
stern.  She  had  anchored  between  the  Isle  of  Amber 
and  the  mainland,  inside  the  chain  of  reefs  which 
encircles  the  island,  and  which  she  had  passed  through 
in  a place  where  no  vessel  had  ever  passed  before. 


164 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


She  presented  her  head  to  the  waves  that  rolled  in 
from  the  open  sea,  and  as  each  billow  rushed  into 
the  narrow  strait  where  she  lay,  her  bow  lifted  to  such 
a degree  as  to  show  her  keel ; and  at  the  same 
moment  her  stern,  plunging  into  the  water,  disap- 
peared altogether  from  our  sight,  as  if  it  were  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  surges.  In  this  position,  driven  by 
the  winds  and  waves  towards  the  shore,  it  was  equally 
impossible  for  her  to  return  by  the  passage  through 
which  she  had  made  her  way ; or,  by  cutting  her 
cables,  to  strand  herself  upon  the  beach,  from  which 
she  was  separated  by  sandbanks  and  reefs  of  rocks. 
Every  billow  which  broke  upon  the  coast  advanced 
roaring  to  the  bottom  of  the  bay,  throwing  up  heaps 
of  shingle  to  the  distance  of  fifty  feet  upon  the  land ; 
then,  rushing  back,  laid  bare  its  sandy  bed,  from 
which  it  rolled  immense  stones,  with  a hoarse  and 
dismal  noise.  The  sea,  swelled  by  the  violence  of 
the  wind,  rose  higher  every  moment ; and  the  whole 
channel  between  this  island  and  the  Isle  of  Amber 
was  soon  one  vast  sheet  of  white  foam,  full  of  yawn- 
ing pits  of  black  and  deep  billows.  Heaps  of  this 
foam,  more  than  six  feet  high,  were  piled  up  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bay ; and  the  winds  which  swept  its 
surface  carried  masses  of  it  over  the  steep  sea-bank, 
scattering  it  upon  the  land  to  the  distance  of  half  a 
league.  These  innumerable  white  flakes,  driven  hori- 
zontally even  to  the  very  foot  of  the  mountains,  looked 
like  snow  issuing  from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean.  The 
appearance  of  the  horizon  portended  a lasting  tem- 
pest : the  sky  and  the  water  seemed  blended  together. 
Thick  masses  of  clouds,  of  a frightful  form,  swept 


VIRGINIA  ON  BOARD  THE  SHIP. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,  165 

across  the  zenith  with  the  swiftness  of  birds,  while 
others  appeared  motionless  as  rocks.  Not  a single 
spot  of  blue  sky  could  be  discerned  in  the  whole 
firmament ; and  a pale  yellow  gleam  only  lightened 
up  all  the  objects  of  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  the 
skies. 

From  the  violent  rolling  of  the  ship,  what  we  all 
dreaded  happened  at  last.  The  cables  which  held 
her  bow  were  torn  away ; she  then  swung  to  a single 
hawser,  and  was  instantly  dashed  upon  the  rocks,  at 
the  distance  of  half  a cable’s  length  from  the  shore. 
A general  cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spectators. 
Paul  rushed  forward  to  throw  himself  into  the  sea, 
when,  seizing  him  by  the  arm  : 

“My  son,”  I exclaimed,  “would  you  perish?”  — 
“ Let  me  go  to  save  her,”  he  cried,  “ or  let  me  die ! ” 

Seeing  that  despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason, 
Domingo  and  I,  in  order  to  preserve  him,  fastened  a 
long  cord  round  his  waist,  and  held  it  fast  by  the  end. 
Paul  then  precipitated  himself  towards  the  Saint- 
Geran,  now  swimming,  and  now  walking  upon  the 
rocks.  Sometimes  he  had  hopes  of  reaching  the 
vessel,  which  the  sea,  by  the  reflux  of  its  waves,  had 
left  almost  dry,  so  that  you  could  have  walked  round 
it  on  foot ; but  suddenly  the  billows,  returning  with 
fresh  fury,  shrowded  it  beneath  mountains  of  water, 
which  then  lifted  it  upright  upon  its  keel.  The  break- 
ers at  the  same  moment  threw  the  unfortunate  Paul 
far  upon  the  beach,  his  legs  bathed  in  blood,  his 
bosom  wounded,  and  himself  half  dead.  The 
moment  he  had  recovered  the  use  of  his  senses,  he 
arose,  and  returned  with  new  ardor  towards  the 


i66 


PAUL  AND  V/RGTNIA. 


vessel,  the  parts  of  which  now  yawned  asunder  from 
the  violent  strokes  of  the  billows.  The  crew  then, 
despairing  of  their  safety,  threw  themselves  in  crowds 
into  the  sea  upon  yards,  planks,  hencoops,  tables,  and 
barrels.  At  this  moment  we  beheld  an  object  which 
wrung  our  hearts  with  grief  and  pity : a young  lady 
appeared  in  the  stern-gallery  of  the  Saint-Geran, 
stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him  who  was  making 
so  many  efforts  to  join  her.  It  was  Virginia.  She 
had  discovered  her  lover  by  his  intrepidity.  The 
sight  of  this  amiable  girl,  exposed  to  such  horrible 
danger,  filled  us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for 
Virginia,  with  a firm  and  dignified  mien,  she  waved 
her  hand,  as  if  bidding  us  an  eternal  farewell.  All 
the  sailors  had  flung  themselves  into  the  sea,  except 
one,  who  still  remained  upon  the  deck,  and  who  was 
naked,  and  strong  as  Hercules. 

This  man  approached  Virginia  with  respect,  and 
kneeling  at  her  feet,  attempted  to  force  her  to  throw 
off  her  clothes  ; but  she  repulsed  him  with  modesty, 
and  turned  away  her  head.  Then  were  heard  re- 
doubled cries  from  the  spectators,  “Save  her!  — 
save  her  ! — do  not  leave  her  ! ” But  at  that  moment 
a mountain  billow,  of  enormous  magnitude,  ingulfed 
itself  between  the  Isle  of  Amber  and  the  coast,  and 
menaced  the  shattered  vessel,  towards  which  it  rolled 
bellowing,  with  its  black  sides  and  foaming  head. 

At  this  terrible  sight  the  sailor  flung  himself  into 
■ the  sea,  and  Virginia,  seeing  death  inevitable,  crossed 
her  hands  upon  her  breast,  and,  raising  upwards  her 
serene  and  beauteous  eyes,  seemed  an  angel  prepared 
to  take  her  flight  to  heaven. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


167 


Oh,  day  of  horror ! Alas  ! everything  was  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  relentless  billows.  The  surge  threw 
some  of  the  spectators,  whom  an  im- 
pulse of  humanity  had  prompted  to 
advance  towards  Virginia,  far  upon 
the  beach,  and  also  the  sailor  who 
had  endeavored  to  save  her  life.  This 
man,  who  had  escaped  from  almost 
certain  death,  kneeling  on 
exclaimed,  — 


“ Oh  my  God  ! Thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I would 
have  given  it  willingly  for  that  excellent  young  lady, 
who  persevered  in  not  undressing  herself  as  I had 
done.” 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


1 68 


Domingo  and  I drew  the  unfortunate  Paul  to  the 
shore.  He  was  senseless,  and  blood  was  flowing 
from  his  mouth  and  ears.  The 
Governor  ordered  him  to  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  a surgeon,  while 
we,  on  our  part,  wandered  along 
the  beach,  in  hopes  that  the  sea 
would  throw  up  the  corpse  of  Vir- 
ginia. But  the  wind  having  sud- 


denly  changed,  as  it  frequently  happens  during 
liurricanes,  our  search  was  in  vain;  and  we  had  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


169 


grief  of  thinking  that  we  should  not  be  able  to 
bestow  on  this  sweet  and  unfortunate  girl  the  last 
sad  duties.  We  retired  from  the  spot  overwhelmed 
with  dismay,  and  our  minds  wholly  occupied  by 
one  cruel  loss,  although  numbers  had  perished  in 
the  wreck.  Some  of  the  spectators  seemed  tempted, 
from  the  fatal  destiny  of  this  virtuous  girl,  to  doubt 
the  existence  of  Providence  ; for  there  are  in  life  such 
terrible,  such  unmerited  evils,  that  even  the  hope  of 
the  wise  is  sometimes  shaken. 

In  the  meantime,  Paul,  who  began  to  recover  his 
senses,  was  taken  to  a house  in  the  neighborhood, 
till  he  was  in  a fit  state  to  be  removed  to  his  own 
home.  Thither  I bent  my  way  with  Domingo,  to 
discharge  the  melancholy  duty  of  preparing  Virginia’s 
mother  and  her  friend  for  the  disastrous  event  which 
had  happened.  When  we  had  reached  the  entrance 
of  the  valley  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  some  negroes 
informed  us  that  the  sea  had  thrown  up  many  pieces 
of  the  wreck  in  the  opposite  bay.  We  descended 
towards  it ; and  one  of  the  first  objects  which  struck 
my  sight  upon  the  beach  was  the  corpse  of  Virginia. 
The  body  was  half  covered  with  sand,  and  preserved 
the  attitude  in  which  we  had  seen  her  perish.  Her 
features  were  not  sensibly  changed ; her  eyes  were 
closed,  and  her  countenance  was  still  serene ; but  the 
pale  purple  hues  of  death  were  blended  on  her  cheek 
with  the  blush  of  virgin  modesty.  One  of  her 
hands  was  placed  upon  her  clothes ; and  the  other, 
which  she  held  on  her  heart,  was  fast  closed,  and  so 
stiffened  that  it  was  with  difficulty  I took  from  its 
grasp  a small  box.  How  great  was  my  emotion. 


170 


PAUL  AND  V/PGIN/A. 


when  I saw  it  contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which 
she  had  promised  him  never  to  part  with  while  she 
lived  ! 

At  the  sight  of  this  last  mark  of  the  fidelity  and 
tenderness  of  the  unfortunate  girl,  I wept  bitterly. 
As  for  Domingo,  he  beat  his  breast,  and  pierced  the 
air  with  his  shrieks.  With  heavy  hearts  we  then 
carried  the  body  of  Virginia  to  a fisherman’s  hut,  and 
gave  it  in  charge  to  some  poor  Malabar  women,  who 
carefully  washed  away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melancholy 
office,  we  ascended  the  hill  with  trembling  steps  to 
the  plantation.  We  found  Madame  de  la  Tour  and 
Margaret  at  prayer,  hourly  expecting  to  have  tidings 
from  the  ship.  As  soon  as  Madame  de  la  Tour  saw 
me  coming,  she  eagerly  cried,  — “Where  is  my 
daughter  — my  dear  daughter  — my  ^hild  ? ” My 
silence  and  my  tears  apprised  her  of  her  misfortune. 
She  was  instantly  seized  with  a convulsive  stopping 
of  the  breath  and  agonizing  pains,  and  her  voice  was 
only  heard  in  sighs  and  groans.  Margaret  cried, — 
“ Where  is  my  son?  I do  not  see  my  son  ! ” — and 
fainted. 

We  ran  to  her  assistance.  In  a short  time  she 
recovered,  and  being  assured  that  Paul  was  safe,  and 
under  the  care  of  the  Governor,  she  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  of  succoring  her  friend,  who  recovered  from 
one  fainting  fit  only  to  fall  into  another.  Madame 
de  la  Tour  passed  the  whole  night  in  these  cruel 
sufferings,  and  I became  convinced  that  there  was  no 
sorrow  like  that  of  a mother. 

When  she  recovered  her  senses,  she  cast  a fixed, 


JVIL/L  AA^n  PVKG/NIA.  17 1 

unconscious  look  towards  heaven.  In  vain  her  friend 
and  myself  pressed  her  hands  in  ours  : in  vain  we 
called  upon  her  by  the  most  tender  names ; she 
appeared  wholly  insensible  to  these  testimonials  of 
our  affection,  and  no  sound  issued  from  her  oppressed 
bosom  but  deep  and  hollow  moans. 

During  the  morning,  Paul  was  carried  home  in  a 
palanquin.  He  had  now  recovered  the  use  of  his  rea- 
son, but  was  unable  to  utter  a word.  His  interview 
with  his  mother  and  ?vladame  de  la  Tour,  which  I had 
dreaded,  produced  a better  effect  than  all  my  cares. 
A ray  of  consolation  gleamed  on  the  countenance  of 
the  two  unfortunate  mothers.  They  pressed  close 
to  him,  clasped  him  in  their  arms,  and  kissed  him  : 
their  tears,  which  excess  of  anguish  had  till  now 
dried  up  at  the  source,  began  to  flow. 

Paul  mixed  his  tears  with  theirs  ; and  nature  hav- 
ing thus  found  relief,  a long  stupor  succeeded  the 
convulsive  pangs  they  had  suffered,  and  afforded 
them  a lethargic  repose,  which  was,  in  truth,  like 
that  of  death. 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  sent  to  apprise  me 
secretly  that  the  corpse  of  Virginia  had  been  borne 
to  the  town  by  his  order,  from  whence  it  was  to  be 
transferred  to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove. 
I immediately  went  down  to  Port  Louis,  where  I 
found  a multitude  assembled  from  all  parts  of  the 
island,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  solem- 
nity, as  if  the  isle  had  lost  that  which  was  nearest 
and  dearest  to  it.  The  vessels  in  the  harbor  had 
their  yards  crossed,  their  flags  half-mast,  and  fired 
guns  at  long  intervals. 


172 


PAUL  AND  V/PG/N/A, 


A body  of  grenadiers  led  the  funeral  procession, 
with  their  muskets  reversed,  their  muffled  drums  send- 
ing forth  slow  and  dismal  sounds.  Dejection  was 
depicted  in  the  countenances  of  these  warriors,  who 
had  so  often  braved  death  in  battle  without  changing 
color. 

Eight  young  ladies  of  considerable  families  of  the 
island,  dressed  in  white,  and  bearing  palm  branches 
in  their  hands,  carried  the  corpse  of  their  amiable 
companion,  which  was  covered  with  flowers. 

They  were  followed  by  a chorus  of  children,  chant- 
ing hymns,  and  by  the  Governor,  his  field  officers,  all 
the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  island,  and  an  im- 
mense crowd  of  people. 

This  imposing  funeral  solemnity  had  been  ordered 
by  the  administration  of  the  country,  which  was 
desirous  of  doing  honor  to  the  virtues  of  Virginia. 
But  when  the  mournful  procession  arrived  at  the  foot 
of  this  mountain,  within  sight  of  those  cottages  of 
which  she  had  so  long  been  an  inmate  and  an  orna- 
ment, diffusing  happiness  all  around  them,  and  which 
her  loss  had  now  filled  with  despair,  the  funeral 
pomp  was  interrupted,  the  hymns  and  anthem 
ceased,  and  the  whole  plain  resounded  with  sighs 
and  lamentations.  Numbers  of  young  girls  ran  from 
the  neighboring  plantations,  to  touch  the  coffin  of 
Virginia  with  their  handkerchiefs,  and,  with  chaplets 
and  crowns  of  flowers,  invoking  her  as  a saint. 
Mothers  asked  of  Heaven  a child  like  Virginia; 
lovers,  a heart  as  faithful ; the  poor,  as  tender  a 
friend ; and  the  slaves,  as  kind  a mistress. 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the  place  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


173 


interment,  some  negresses  of  Madagascar  and 
Caffres  of  Mozambique  placed  a number  of  baskets 
of  fruit  around  the  corpse  and  hung  pieces  of  stuff 
upon  the  adjoining  trees,  according  to  the  custom  of 


their  several  countries.  Some  Indian  women  from 
Bengal,  also,  and  from  the  coast  of  Malabar,  brought 
cages  full  of  small  birds,  which  they  set  at  liberty 
upon  her  coffin.  Thus  deeply  did  the  loss  of  this 
amiable  being  affect  the  natives  of  different  countries. 


174  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

and  thus  was  the  ritual  of  various  religions  performed 
over  the  tomb  of  unfortunate  virtue. 

It  became  necessary  to  place  guards  round  her 
grave,  and  to  employ  gentle  force  in  removing  some 
of  the  daughters  of  the  neighboring  villagers,  who 


endeavored  to  throw  themselves  into  it,  saying,  that 
they  had  no  longer  any  consolation  to  hope  for  in 
this  world,  and  that  nothing  remained  for  them  but 
to  die  with  their  benefactress. 

On  the  western  side  of  the  church  of  the  Shaddock- 
Grove  is  a small  copse  of  bamboos,  where,  in  return- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


175 


ing  from  mass  with  her  mother  and  Margaret,  Virginia 
loved  to  rest  herself,  seated  by  the  side  of  him  whom 
she  then  called  her  brother.  This  was  the  spot 
selected  for  her  interment. 

At  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity.  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais  came  up  here,  followed  by  part  of 
his  numerous  retinue.  He  offered  Madame  de  la 
Tour  and  her  friend  all  the  assistance  it  was  in  his 
power  to  bestow.  After  briefly  expressing  his  indig- 
nation at  the  conduct  of  her  unnatural  aunt,  he 
advanced  to  Paul,  and  said  everything  which  he 
thought  most  likely  to  soothe  and  console  him.  — 
“Heaven  is  my  witness,”  said  he,  “that  I wish  to 
insure  your  happiness,  and  that  of  your  family.  My 
dear  friend,  you  must  go  to  France:  I will  obtain  a 
commission  for  you,  and  during  your  absence  I will 
take  the  same  care  of  your  mother  as  if  she  were  my 
own.”  He  then  offered  him  his  hand  ; but  Paul  drew 
away,  and  turned  his  head  aside,  unable  to  bear  his 
sight. 

I remained  for  some  time  at  the  plantation  of  my 
unfortunate  friends,  that  I might  render  to  them  and 
Paul  those  offices  of  friendship  that  were  in  my 
power,  and  which  might  alleviate,  though  they 
could  not  heal,  the  wounds  of  calamity.  At  the 
end  of  three  weeks  Paul  was  able  to  walk ; but  his 
mind  seemed  to  droop  in  proportion  as  his  body 
gathered  strength.  He  was  insensible  to  every- 
thing ; his  look  was  vacant ; and  when  asked  a 
question,  he  made  no  reply.  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
who  was  dying,  said  to  him  often,  — “ My  son,  while 
I look  at  you,  I think  I see  my  dear  Virginia.”  At 


176 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


the  name  of  Virginia  he  shuddered,  and  hastened 
away  from  her,  notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of 
his  mother,  who  begged  him  to  come  back  to  her 
friend.  He  used  to  go  alone  into  the  garden,  and 
seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  Virginia’s  cocoa-tree,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fountain.  The  Governor’s 
surgeon,  who  had  shown  the  most  humane  attention 
to  Paul  and  the  whole  family,  told  us  that,  in  order 
to  cure  the  deep  melancholy  which  had  taken  pos- 
session of  his  mind,  we  must  allow  him  to  do  what- 
ever he  pleased,  without  contradiction  : this,  he  said, 
afforded  the  only  chance  of  overcoming  the  silence 
in  which  he  persevered. 

I resolved  to  follow  this  advice.  The  first  use 
which  Paul  made  of  his  returning  strength  was  to  ab- 
sent himself  from  the  plantation.  Being  determined 
not  to  lose  sight  of  him,  I set  out  immediately,  and 
desired  Domingo  to  take  some  provisions  and  accom- 
pany us.  The  young  man’s  strength  and  spirits 
seemed  renewed  as  he  descended  the  mountain.  He 
first  took  the  road  to  the  Shaddock  Grove ; and 
when  he  was  near  the  church  in  the  Alley  of  Bamboos, 
he  walked  directly  to  the  spot  where  he  saw  some 
earth  fresh  turned  up : kneeling  down  there,  and 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  offered  up  a long 
prayer.  This  appeared  to  me  a favorable  symptom 
of  the  return  of  his  reason  ; since  this  mark  of  confi- 
dence in  the  Supreme  Being  showed  that  his  mind 
was  beginning  to  resume  its  natural  functions.  Do- 
mingo and  I,  following  his  example,  fell  upon  our 
knees,  and  mingled  our  prayers  with  his.  When  he 
arose,  he  bent  his  way,  paying  little  attention  to  us, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


177 


towards  the  northern  part  of  the  island.  As  I knew 
that  he  was  not  only  ignorant  of  the  spot  where  the 
body  of  Virginia  had  been  deposited,  but  even  of  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  recovered  from  the  waves,  I asked 
him  why  he  had  offered  up  his  prayer  at  the  foot  of 
those  bamboos.  He  answered,  — “We  have  been 
there  so  often.” 

He  continued  his  course  until  we  reached  the  bor- 
ders of  the  forest,  when  night  came  on.  I set  him 
the  example  of  taking  some  nourishment,  and  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  do  the  same ; and  we  slept  upon  the 
grass  at  the  foot  of  a tree.  The  next  day  I thought 
he  seemed  disposed  to  retrace  his  steps  ; for,  after 
having  gazed  a considerable  time  from  the  plain  upon 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  with  its  long 
avenues  of  bamboos,  he  made  a movement  as  if  to 
return  home  : but  suddenly  plunging  into  the  forest, 
he  directed  his  course  towards  the  north.  I guessed 
what  was  his  design,  and  I endeavored,  but  in  vain, 
to  dissuade  him  from  it.  About  noon  we  arrived  at 
the  quarter  of  Golden  Dust.  He  rushed  down  to  the 
seashore,  opposite  to  the  spot  where  the  Saint-Geran 
had  been  wrecked.  At  the  sight  of  the  Isle  of  Amber, 
and  its  channel,  then  smooth  as  a mirror,  he  ex- 
claimed,— “Virginia!  oh,  my  dear  Virginia!”  and 
fell  senseless.  Domingo  and  I carried  him  into  the 
woods,  where  we  had  some  difficulty  in  recovering 
him.  As  soon  as  he  regained  his  senses,  he  wished 
to  return  to  the  seashore  ; but  we  conjured  him  not 
to  renew  his  own  anguish  and  ours  by  such  cruel 
remembrances,  and  he  took  another  direction.  Dur- 
ing a whole  week  he  sought  every  spot  where  he  had 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


1 78 

once  wandered  with  the  companion  of  his  childhood. 
He  traced  the  path  by  which  she  had  gone  to  inter- 
cede for  the  slave  of  the  Black  River.  He  gazed 
again  upon  the  banks  of  the  river  of  the  Three 
Breasts,  where  she  had  rested  herself  when  unable  to 
walk  farther,  and  upon  that  part  of  the  wood  where 
they  had  lost  their  way.  All  the  haunts,  which  re- 
called to  his  memory  the  anxieties,  the  sports,  the 
repasts,  the  benevolence  of  her  he  loved,  — the  river 
of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  my  house,  the  neighboring 
cascade,  the  papaw-tree  she  had  planted,  the  grassy 
fields  in  which  she  loved  to  run,  the  openings  of  the 
forest  where  she  used  to  sing,  all  in  succession  called 
forth  his  tears ; and  those  very  echoes  which  had  so 
often  resounded  with  their  mutual  shouts  of  joy,  now 
repeated  only  these  accents  of  despair,  — “Virginia! 
oh,  my  dear  Virginia  I ” 

During  this  savage  and  wandering  life  his  eyes  be- 
came sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin  assumed  a yellow 
tint,  and  his  health  rapidly  declined.  Convinced 
that  our  present  sufferings  are  rendered  more  acute 
by  the  bitter  recollection  of  bygone  pleasures,  and 
that  the  passions  gather  strength  in  solitude,  I re- 
solved to  remove  my  unfortunate  friend  from  those 
scenes  which  recalled  the  remembrance  of  his  loss, 
and  to  lead  him  to  a m.ore  busy  part  of  the  island. 
With  this  view,  I conducted  him  to  the  inhabited 
part  of  the  elevated  quarter  of  Williams,  which  he 
had  never  visited,  and  where  the  busy  pursuits  of 
agriculture  and  commerce  ever  occasioned  much 
bustle  and  variety.  Numbers  of  carpenters  were  em- 
ployed in  hewing  down  and  squaring  trees,  while 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


179 


others  were  sawing  them  into  planks  ; carriages  were 
continually  passing  and  repassing  on  the  roads  ; nu- 
merous herds  of  oxen  and  troops  of  horses  were  feed- 
ing on  those  widespread  meadows,  and  the  whole 
country  was  dotted  with  the  dwellings  of  man.  On 
some  spots  the  elevation  of  the  soil  permitted  the 
culture  of  many  of  the  plants  of  Europe  : the  yellow 
ears  of  ripe  corn  waved  upon  the  plains  ; strawberry 
plants  grew  in  the  openings  of  the  woods,  and  the 


roads  were  bordered  by  hedges  of  rose-trees.  The 
freshness  of  the  air,  too,  giving  tension  to  the  nerves, 
was  favorable  to  the  health  of  Europeans.  From 
those  heights,  situated  near  the  middle  of  the  island, 
and  surrounded  by  extensive  forests,  neither  the  sea, 
nor  Port  Louis,  nor  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  nor  any  other  object  associated  with  the  re- 
membrance of  Virginia  could  be  discerned.  Even 
the  mountains,  which  present  various  shapes  on  the 
side  of  Port  Louis,  appear  from  hence  like  a long 


i8o  PAUL  AND  VI RG I NLA. 

promontory,  in  a straight  and  perpendicular  line, 
from  which  arise  lofty  pyramids  of  rock,  whose  sum- 
mits are  enveloped  in  the  clouds. 

Conducting  Paul  to  these  scenes,  I kept  him  con- 
tinually in  action,  walking  with  him  in  rain  and  sun- 
shine, by  night  and  by  day.  I sometimes  wandered 
with  him  into  the  depths  of  the  forests,  or  led  him 
over  untilled  grounds,  hoping  that  change  of  scene 
and  fatigue  might  divert  his  mind  from  its  gloomy 
meditations.  But  the  soul  of  a lover  finds  everywhere 
the  traces  of  the  beloved  object.  Night  and  day,  the 
calm  of  solitude  and  the  tumult  of  crowds,  are  to  him 
the  same : time  itself,  which  casts  the  shade  of  ob- 
livion over  so  many  other  remembrances,  in  vain 
would  tear  that  tender  and  sacred  recollection  from 
the  heart.  The  needle,  when  touched  by  the  lode- 
stone,  however  it  may  have  been  moved  from  its  po- 
sition, is  no  sooner  left  to  repose,  than  it  turns  to 
the  pole  of  its  attraction.  So,  when  I inquired  of 
Paul,  as  we  wandered  amidst  the  plains  of  Wil- 
liams,— “Where  shall  we  now  go?”  he  pointed  to  the 
north,  and  said,  “Yonder  are  our  mountains;  let  us 
return  home.” 

I now  saw  that  all  the  means  I took  to  divert  him 
from  his  melancholy  were  fruitless,  and  that  no  re- 
source was  left  but  an  attempt  to  combat  his  passion 
by  the  arguments  which  reason  suggested.  I an- 
swered him,  — “Yes,  there  are  the  mountains  where 
once  dwelt  your  beloved  Virginia ; and  here  is  the 
picture  you  gave  her,  and  which  she  held,  when  dy- 
ing, to  her  heart ; that  heart,  which  even  in  its  last 
moments  only  beat  for  you.”  I then  presented  to 


FA[/L  AND  VIRGINIA, 


i8i 


Paul  the  little  portrait  which  he  had  given  to  Virginia 
on  the  borders  of  the  cocoa-tree  fountain.  At  this 
sight  a gloomy  joy  overspread  his  countenance.  He 
eagerly  seized  the  picture  with  his  feeble  hands,  and 
held  it  to  his  lips.  His  oppressed  bosom  seemed 
ready  to  burst  with  emo- 
tion, and  his  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears  which  had 
no  power  to  flow. 

“ My  son,”  said  I,  “ lis- 
ten to  one  who  is  your 
friend,  who  was  the  friend 
of  Virginia,  and  who,  in 
the  bloom  of  your  hopes, 
has  often  endeavored  to 
fortify  your  mind  against 
the  unforeseen  accidents 
of  life.  What  do  you 
deplore  with  so  much  bit- 
terness? Is  it  your  own 
misfortunes,  or  those  of 
Virginia,  which  affect  you 
so  deeply? 

“ Your  own  misfortunes  are  indeed  severe.  You 
have  lost  the  most  amiable  of  girls,  who  would  have 
grown  up  to  womanhood  a pattern  to  her  sex ; one 
who  sacrificed  her  own  interests  to  yours,  who  pre- 
ferred you  to  all  that  fortune  could  bestow,  and  con- 
sidered you  as  the  only  recompense  worthy  of  her 
virtues.  But  might  not  this  very  object,  from  whom 
you  expected  the  purest  happiness,  have  proved  to 
you  a source  of  the  most  cruel  distress  ? She  had  re- 


t82 


PAUL  AND  V/RGINIA, 


turned  poor  and  disinherited  : all  you  could  henceforth 
have  partaken  with  her  was  your  labor.  Rendered 
more  delicate  by  her  education,  and  more  coura- 
geous by  her  misfortunes,  you  might  have  beheld  her 
every  day  sinking  beneath  her  efforts  to  share  and 
lighten  your  fatigues.  Had  she  brought  you  children, 
they  would  only  have  served  to  increase  her  anxieties 
and  your  own,  from  the  difficulty  of  sustaining  at 
once  your  aged  parents  and  your  infant  family. 

“Very  likely  you  will  tell  me  that  the  Governor 
would  have  helped  you ; but  how  do  you  know  that 
in  a colony  whose  Governors  are  so  frequently 
changed,  you  would  have  had  others  like  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais?  — that  one  might  not  have  been 
sent  destitute  of  good  feeling  and  of  morality?  — 
that  your  young  wife,  in  order  to  procure  some 
miserable  pittance,  might  not  have  been  obliged  to 
seek  his  favor?  Had  she  been  weak,  you  would 
have  been  to  be  pitied ; and  if  she  had  remained 
virtuous,  you  would  have  continued  poor ; forced 
even  to  consider  yourself  fortunate  if,  on  account  of 
the  beauty  and  virtue  of  your  wife,  you  had  not  to 
endure  persecution  from  those  who  had  promised 
you  protection. 

“ It  would  still  have  remained  to  vou,  you  may  say, 
to  have  enjoyed  a pleasure  independent  of  fortune, 
— that  of  protecting  a beloved  being,  who,  in  propor- 
tion to  her  own  helplessness,  had  more  attached  her- 
self to  you.  You  may  fancy  that  your  pains  and 
sufferings  would  have  served  to  endear  you  to  each 
other,  and  that  your  passion  would  have  gathered 
strength  from  your  mutual  misfortunes.  Undoubtedly 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  183 

virtuous  love  does  find  consolation  even  in  such 
melancholy  retrospects.  But  Virginia  is  no  more; 
yet  those  persons  still  live,  whom,  next  to  yourself, 
she  held  most  dear ; her  mother,  and  your  own  ; your 
inconsolable  affliction  is  bringing  them  both  to  the 
grave.  Place  your  happiness,  as  she  did  hers,  in 
affording  them  succor.  My  son ! beneficence  is  the 
happiness  of  the  virtuous ; there  is  no  other  greater 
or  more  certain  enjoyment  on  the  earth.  Schemes 
of  pleasure,  repose,  luxuries,  wealth,  and  glory  are 
not  suited  to  man,  weak,  wandering,  and  transitory 
as  he  is.  See  how  rapidly  one  step  towards  the 
acquisition  of  fortune  has  precipitated  us  all  to  the 
lowest  abyss  of  misery!  You  were  opposed  to  it,  it 
is  true ; but  who  would  not  have  thought  that  Vir- 
ginia’s voyage  would  terminate  in  her  happiness  and 
your  own?  An  invitation  from  a rich  and  aged  rela- 
tion, the  advice  of  a wise  Governor,  the  approbation 
of  the  whole  colony,  and  the  well-advised  authority 
of  her  confessor,  decided  the  lot  of  Virginia.  Thus 
do  we  run  to  our  ruin,  deceived  even  by  the  prudence 
of  those  who  watch  over  us.  It  would  be  better,  no 
doubt,  not  to  believe  them,  nor  even  to  listen  to  the 
voice  or  lean  on  the  hopes  of  a deceitful  world.  But 
all  men,  — those  you  see  occupied  in  these  plains, 
those  who  go  abroad  to  seek  their  fortunes,  and  those 
in  Europe  who  enjoy  repose  from  the  labors  of 
others,  are  liable  to  reverses  : not  one  is  secure  from 
losing,  at  some  period,  all  that  he  most  values,  — 
greatness,  wealth,  wife,  children,  and  friends.  Most 
of  these  would  have  their  sorrow  increased  by  the 
remembrance  of  their  own  imprudence.  But  you 


184 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


have  nothing  with  which  you  can  reproach  yourself. 
You  have  been  faithful  in  your  love.  In  the  bloom 
of  youth,  by  not  departing  from  the  dictates  of  nature, 
you  evinced  the  wisdom  of  a sage.  Your  views  were 
just,  because  they  were  pure,  simple,  and  disinter- 
ested. You  had,  besides,  on  Virginia,  sacred  claims 
which  nothing  could  countervail.  You  have  lost  her  ; 
but  it  is  neither  your  own  imprudence,  nor  your 
avarice,  nor  your  false  wisdom  which  has  occasioned 
this  misfortune,  but  the  will  of  God,  who  has  em- 
ployed the  passions  of  others  to  snatch  from  you  the 
object  of  your  love ; God,  from  whom  you  derive 
everything,  who  knows  what  is  most  fitting  for  you, 
and  whose  wisdom  has  not  left  you  any  cause  for  the 
repentance  and  despair  which  succeed  the  calamities 
that  are  brought  upon  us  by  oureslves. 

“ Vainly,  in  your  misfortunes,  do  you  say  to  your- 
self, ‘ I have  not  deserved  them.’  Is  it  then  the 
calamity  of  Virginia — her  death,  and  her  present 
condition,  that  you  deplore?  She  has  undergone  the 
fate  allotted  to  all,  — to  high  birth,  to  beauty,  and 
even  to  empires  themselves.  The  life  of  man,  with 
all  his  projects,  may  be  compared  to  a tower,  at 
whose  summit  is  death.  When  your  Virginia  was 
born,  she  was  condemned  to  die  : happily  for  herself, 
she  is  released  from  life  before  losing  her  mother,  or 
yours,  or  you ; saved,  thus,  from  undergoing  pangs 
worse  than  those  of  death  itself. 

“ Learn  then,  my  son,  that  death  is  a benefit  to  all 
men : it  is  the  night  of  that  restless  day  we  call  by 
the  name  of  life. 

“ The  diseases,  the  griefs,  the  vexations,  and  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  185 

fears,  which  perpetually  imbitter  our  life  as  long  as 
we  possess  it,  molest  us  no  more  in  the  sleep  of  death. 
If  you  inquire  into  the  history  of  those  men  who 
appear  to  have  been  the  happiest,  you  will  find  that 
they  have  bought  their  apparent  felicity  very  dear : 
public  consideration,  perhaps,  by  domestic  evils  ; for- 
tune, by  the  loss  of  health  ; the  rare  happiness  of  be- 
ing beloved,  by  continual  sacrifices  ; and  often,  at  the 
expiration  of  a life  devoted  to  the  good  of  others, 
they  see  themselves  surrounded  only  by  false  friends 
and  ungrateful  relations.  But  Virginia  was  happy  to 
her  very  last  moment.  When  with  us,  she  was  happy 
in  partaking  of  the  gifts  of  nature  ; when  far  from  us, 
she  found  enjoyment  in  the  practice  of  virtue ; and 
even  at  the  terrible  moment  in  which  we  saw  her 
perish,  she  still  had  cause  for  self-gratulation.  For, 
whether  she  cast  her  eyes  on  the  assembled  colony, 
made  miserable  by  her  expected  loss,  or  on  you,  my 
son,  who,  with  so  much  intrepidity,  were  endeavor- 
ing to  save  her,  she  must  have  seen  how  dear  she  was 
to  all.  Her  mind  was  fortified  against  the  future  by 
the  remembrance  of  her  innocent  life ; and  at  that 
moment  she  received  the  reward  which  Heaven  re- 
serves for  virtue,  — a courage  superior  to  danger. 
She  met  death  with  a serene  countenance. 

“ My  son  ! God  gives  all  the  trials  of  life  to  virtue, 
in  order  to  show  that  virtue  alone  can  support  them, 
and  even  find  in  them  happiness  and  glory.  When 
He  designs  for  it  an  illustrious  reputation.  He  ex- 
hibits it  on  a wide  theatre,  and  contending  with 
death.  Then  does  the  courage  of  virtue  shine  forth 
as  an  example,  and  the  misfortunes  to  which  it  has 


i86 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA. 


been  exposed  receive  forever,  from  posterity,  the  tribT 
ute  of  their  tears.  This  is  the  immortal  monument 
reserved  for  virtue  in  a world  where  everything  else 
passes  away,  and  where  the  names,  even  of  the 
greater  number  of  kings  themselves,  are  soon  buried 
in  eternal  oblivion. 

“ Meanwhile,  Virginia  still  exists.  My  son,  you 
see  that  everything  changes  on  this  earth,  but  that 
nothing  is  ever  lost.  No  art  of  man  ca;i  annihilate 
the  smallest  particle  of  matter  : can,  then,  that  which 
has  possessed  reason,  sensibility,  affection,  virtue, 
and  religion  be  supposed  capable  of  destruction, 
when  the  very  elements  with  which  it  is  clothed  are 
imperishable?  Ah!  however  happy  Virginia  may 
have  been  with  us,  she  is  now  much  more  so. 

“ There  is  a God,  my  son  : it  is  unnecessary  for 
me  to  prove  it  to  you,  for  the  voice  of  all  nature 
loudly  proclaims  it.  The  wickedness  of  mankind 
leads  them  to  deny  the  existence  of  a Being  whose 
justice  they  fear.  But  your  mind  is  fully  convinced 
of  His  existence,  while  His  works  are  ever  before 
your  eyes.  Do  you  then  believe  that  He  would  leave 
Virginia  without  recompense?  Do  you  think  that 
the  same  Power  which  enclosed  her  noble  soul  in  a 
form  so  beautiful,  — so  like  an  emanation  from  itself, 
could  not  have  saved  her  from  the  waves  ? — that  He 
who  has  ordained  the  happiness  of  man  here,  by  laws 
unknown  to  you,  cannot  prepare  a still  higher  degree 
of  felicity  for  Virginia  by  other  laws,  of  which  you  are 
equally  ignorant?  Before  we  were  born  into  this 
world,  could  we,  do  you  imagine,  even  if  we  were 
capable  of  thinking  at  all,  have  formed  any  idea  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


187 


our  existence  here?  And  now  that  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  this  gloomy  and  transitory  life,  can  we  fore- 
see what  is  beyond  the  tomb,  or  in  what  manner  we 
shall  be  emancipated  from  it?  Does  God,  like  man, 
need  this  little  globe,  the  earth,  as  a theatre  for  the 
display  of  His  intelligence  and  His  goodness?  — and 
can  He  only  dispose  of  human  life  in  the  territory  of 
death?  There  is  not,  in  the  entire  ocean,  a single 
drop  of  water  which  is  not  peopled  with  living  beings 
appertaining  to  man : and  does  there  exist  nothing 
for  him  in  the  heavens  above  his  head?  What!  is 
there  no  supreme  intelligence,  no  divine  goodness, 
except  on  this  little  spot  where  we  are  placed?  In 
those  innumerable  glowing  fires,  — in  those  infinite 
fields  of  light  which  surround  them,  and  which  nei- 
ther storms  nor  darkness  can  extinguish,  is  there 
nothing  but  empty  space  and  an  eternal  void  ? If  we, 
weak  and  ignorant  as  we  are,  might  dare  to  assign 
limits  to  that  Power  from  whom  we  have  received 
everything,  we  might  possibly  imagine  that  we  were 
placed  on  the  very  confines  of  His  empire,  where  life 
is  perpetually  struggling  with  death,  and  innocence 
forever  in  danger  from  the  power  of  tyranny ! 

“ Somewhere,  then,  without  doubt,  there  is  another 
world  where  virtue  will  receive  its  reward.  Virginia 
is  now  happy.  Ah  ! if  from  the  abode  of  angels  she 
could  hold  communication  with  you,  she  would  tell 
you,  as  she  did  when  she  bade  you  her  last  adieus, — 
‘O  Paul!  life  is  but  a scene  of  trial.  I have  been 
obedient  to  the  laws  of  nature,  love,  and  virtue.  I 
crossed  the  seas  to  obey  the  will  of  my  relations  ; 
I sacrificed  wealth  in  order  to  keep  my  faith ; and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


i88 


I preferred  the  loss  of  life  to  disobeying  the  dictates 
of  modesty.  Heaven  found  that  1 had  fulfilled  my 
duties,  and  has  snatched  me  forever  from  all  the 
miseries  I might  have  endured  myself,  and  all  I 
might  have  felt  for  the  miseries  of  others.  I am 
placed  far  above  the  reach  of  all  human  evils,  and 
you  pity  me ! I am  become  pure  and  unchangeable 
as  a particle  of  light,  and  you  would  recall  me  to  the 
darkness  of  human  life  ! O Paul ! O my  beloved 
friend  ! recollect  those  days  of  happiness,  when  in 
the  morning  we  felt  the  delightful  sensations  excited 
by  the  unfolding  beauties  of  nature  ; when  we  seemed 
to  rise  with  the  sun  to  the  peaks  of  those  rocks,  and 
then  to  spread  with  his  rays  over  the  bosom  of  the 
forests.  We  experienced  a delight,  the  cause  of  which 
we  could  not  comprehend.  In  the  innocence  of  our 
desires,  we  wished  to  be  all  sight,  to  enjoy  the  rich 
colors  of  the  early  dawn ; all  smell,  to  taste  a thou- 
sand perfumes  at  once  ; all  hearing,  to  listen  to  the 
singing  of  our  birds  ; and  all  heart,  to  be  capable  of 
gratitude  for  these  mingled  blessings.  Now,  at  the 
source  of  the  beauty  whence  flows  all  that  is  delight- 
ful upon  earth,  my  soul  intuitively  sees,,  tastes,  hears, 
touches  what  before  it  could  only  be  made  sensible 
of  through  the  medium  of  our  weak  organs.  Ah  ! 
what  language  can  describe  these  shores  of  eternal 
bliss,  which  I inhabit  forever ! All  that  infinite 
power  and  heavenly  goodness  could  create  to  con- 
sole the  unhappy  ; all  that  the  friendship  of  number- 
less beings  exulting  in  the  same  felicity  can  impart, 
we  enjoy  in  unmixed  perfection.  Support,  then,  the 
trial  which  is  now  allotted  to  you,  that  you  may 


FA[/L  AND  VIRGINIA. 


189 


heighten  the  happiness  of  your  Virginia  by  love 
which  will  know  no  termination,  — ■ by  a union  which 
will  be  eternal.  There  I will  calm  your  regrets,  I 
will  wipe  away  your  tears.  Oh,  my  beloved  friend! 
my  youthful  husband ! raise  your  thoughts  towards  the 
infinite,  to  enable  you  to  support  the  evils  of  a 
moment.’  ” 

My  own  emotion  choked  my  utterance.  Paul, 
looking  at  me  steadfastly,  cried,  — “ She  is  no  more  ! 
she  is  no  more  1 ” and  a long  fainting  fit  succeeded 
these  words  of  woe. 

When  restored  to  himself,  he  said,  “Since  death 
is  a good,  and  since  Virginia  is  happy,  I will  die  too, 
and  be  united  to  Virginia.”  Thus  the  motives  of 
consolation  I had  offered  only  served  to  nourish  his 
despair.  I was  in  the  situation  of  a man  attempt- 
ing to  save  a friend  who  is  sinking  in  the  midst  of  a 
flood,  and  who  obstinately  refuses  to  swim.  Sorrow 
had  completely  overwhelmed  his  soul.  Alas  I the 
trials  of  early  years  prepare  man  for  the  afflictions  of 
after-life ; but  Paul  had  never  experienced  any. 

I took  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling,  where  I 
found  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  a state 
of  increased  languor  and  exhaustion,  but  Margaret 
seemed  to  droop  the  most.  Lively  characters,  upon 
whom  petty  troubles  have  but  little  effect,  sink  the 
soonest  under  great  calamities. 

“O  my  good  friend,”  said  Margaret,  “I  thought 
last  night  I saw  Virginia,  dressed  in  white,  in  the 
midst  of  groves  and  delicious  gardens.  She  said  to 
me,  ‘ I enjoy  the  most  perfect  happiness  ; ’ and  then 
approaching  Paul  with  a smiling  air,  she  bore  him 


190 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


away  with  her.  While  I was  struggling  to  retain 
my  son,  I felt  that  I myself  too  was  quitting  the 
earth,  and  that  I followed  with  inexpressible  delight. 
I then  wished  to  bid  my  friend  farewell,  when  I saw 
that  she  was  hastening  after  me,  accompanied  by 
Mary  and  Domingo.  But  the  strangest  circumstance 
remains  yet  to  be  told  : Madame  de  la  Tour  has  this 
very  night  had  a dream  exactly  like  mine  in  every 
possible  respect.” 

“ My  dear  friend,”  I replied,  “ nothing,  I firmly 
believe,  happens  in  this  world  without  the  permis- 
sion of  God.  Future  events,  too,  are  sometimes 
revealed  in  dreams.” 

Madame  de  la  Tour  then  related  to  me  her  dream, 
which  was  exactly  the  same  as  Margaret’s  in  every 
particular ; and  as  I had  never  observed  in  either  of 
these  ladies  any  propensity  to  superstition,  I was 
struck  with  the  singular  coincidence  of  their  dreams, 
and  I felt  convinced  that  they  would  soon  be  realized. 
The  belief  that  future  events  are  sometimes  revealed 
to  us  during  sleep,  is  one  that  is  widely  diffused 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  The  greatest  men 
of  antiquity  have  had  faith  in  it,  among  whom  may 
be  mentioned  Alexander  the  Great,  Julius  Caesar,  the 
Scipios,  the  two  Catos,  and  Brutus,  none  of  whom 
were  weak-minded  persons. 

Both  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament  furnish  us 
with  numerous  instances  of  dreams  that  came  to 
pass.  As  for  myself,  I need  only,  on  this  subject, 
appeal  to  my  own  experience,  as  I have  morg  than 
once  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  superior 
intelligences,  who  interest  themselves  in  our  wel- 


PAUL  AND  VIP  G INI  A 


191 

fare,  communicate  with  us  in  these  visions  of  the 
night. 

Things  which  surpass  the  light  of  human  reason 
cannot  be  proved  by  arguments  derived  from  that 
reason ; but  still,  if  the  mind  of  man  is  an  image  of 
that  of  God,  since  man  can  make  known  his  will  t^ 
the  ends  of  the  earth  by  secret  missives,  may  not  the 
Supreme  Intelligence  which  governs  the  universe 
employ  similar  means  to  attain  a like  end?  One 
friend  consoles  another  by  a letter,  which,  after  pass- 
ing through  many  kingdoms,  and  being  in  the  hands 
of  various  individuals  at  enmity  with  each  other, 
brings  at  last  joy  and  hope  to  the  breast  of  a single 
human  being.  May  not  in  like  manner  the  Sov- 
ereign Protector  of  innocence  come,  in  some  secret 
way,  to  the  help  of  a virtuous  soul,  which  puts  its 
trust  in  Him  alone?  Has  He  occasion  to  employ 
visible  means  to  effect  His  purpose  in  this,  whose 
ways  are  hidden  in  all  His  ordinary  works  ? 

Why  should  we  doubt  the  evidence  of  dreams?  for 
what  is  our  life,  occupied  as  it  is  with  vain  and  fleet- 
ing imaginations, other  than  a prolonged  vision  of  the 
night  ? 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  in  general,  on  the 
present  occasion  the  dreams  of  my  friends  were  soon 
realized.  Paul  expired  two  months  after  the  death  of 
his  Virginia,  whose  name  dwelt  on  his  lips  in  his  ex- 
piring moments. 

About  a week  after  the  death  of  her  son,  Margaret 
saw  her  last  hour  approach  with  that  serenity  which 
virtue  only  can  feel.  She  bade  Madame  de  la  Tour 
a most  tender  farewell,  “in  the  certain  hope,’' she 


192 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


said,  “of  a delightful  and  eternal  reuxiion.  Death 
is  the  greatest  of  blessings  to  us,”  added  she,  “ and 
we  ought  to  desire  it.  If  life  be  a punishment,  we 
should  wish  for  its  termination ; if  it  be  a trial,  we 
should  be  thankful  that  it  is  short.” 

The  Governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and  Mary, 
who  were  no  longer  able  to  labor,  and  who  survived 
their  mistresses  but  a short  time. 

As  for  poor  Fiddle,  he  pined  to  death  soon  after  he 
had  lost  his  master. 

I afforded  an  asylum  in  my  dwelling  to  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  who  bore  up  under  her  calamities  with  in- 
credible elevation  of  mind.  She  had  endeavored  to 
console  Paul  and  Margaret  till  their  last  moments, 
as  if  she  herself  had  no  misfortunes  of  her  own  to 
bear.  When  they  were  no  more,  she  used  to  talk 
to  me  every  day  of  them  as  of  beloved  friends,  who 
were  still  living  near  her.  She  survived  them,  how- 
ever, but  one  month.  Far  from  reproaching  her  aunt 
for  the  afflictions  she  had  caused,  her  benign  spirit 
prayed  to  God  to  pardon  her,  and  to  appease  that 
remorse  which  we  heard  began  to  torment  her  as  soon 
as  she  had  sent  Virginia  away  with  so  much  inhuman- 

Conscience,  that  certain  punishment  of  the  guilty, 
visited  with  all  its  terrors  the  mind  of  this  unnatural 
relation.  So  great  was  her  torment,  that  life  and 
death  became  equally  insupportable  to  her.  Some- 
times she  reproached  herself  with  the  untimely  fate 
of  her  lovely  niece,  and  with  the  death  of  her  mother 
which  had  immediately  followed  it.  At  other  times 
she  congratulated  herself  for  having  repulsed  far  from 


PAUL  AND  VIPGINIA.  193 

her  two  wretched  creatures,  who,  she  said,  had  both 
dishonored  their  family  by  their  grovelling  inclina- 
tions. Sometimes,  at  the  sight  of  the  many  miser- 
able objects  with  which  Paris  abounds,  she  would  fly 
into  a rage  and  exclaim,  — “ Why  are  not  these  idle 


people  sent  off  to  the  colonies  ? ” As  for  the  notions 
of  humanity,  virtue,  and  religion  adopted  by  all  na- 
tions, she  said,  they  were  only  the  inventions  of  their 
rulers,  to  serve  political  purposes.  Then,  flying  all 
at  once  to  the  other  extreme,  she  abandoned  herself 
to  superstitious  terrors,  which  filled  her  with  mortal 
fears.  She  would  then  give  abundant  alms  to  the 


194  PAUL  AA^B  VIP  G INI  A. 

wealthy  ecclesiastics  who  governed  her,  beseeching 
them  to  appease  the  wrath  of  God  by  the  sacrifice  of 
her  fortune,  — as  if  the  offering  to  Him  of  the  wealth 
she  had  withheld  from  the  miserable  could  please  her 
Heavenly  Father!  In  her  imagination  she  often  be- 
held fields  of  fire,  with  burning  mountains,  wherein 


hideous  spectres  wandered  about,  loudly  calling  on 
her  by  name.  She  threw  herself  at  her  confessoFs 
feet,  imagining  every  description  of  agony  and  tor- 
ture ; for  Heaven — just  Heaven — always  sends  to 
the  cruel  the  most  frightful  views  of  religion  and  a 
future  state. 

Atheist,  thus,  and  fanatic  in  turn,  holding  both  life 
and  death  in  equal  horror,  she  lived  on  for  several 
years.  But  what  completed  the  torments  of  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


195 


miserable  existence,  was  that  very  object  to  which 
she  had  sacrificed  every  natural  affection.  She  was 
deeply  annoyed  at  perceiving  that  her  fortune  must 
go,  at  hhr  death,  to  relations  whom  she  hated,  and 
she  determined  to  alienate  as  much  of  it  as  she  could. 
They,  however,  taking  advantage  of  her  frequent 
attacks  of  low  spirits,  caused  her  to  be  secluded  as  a 
lunatic,  and  her  affairs  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of 
trustees.  Her  wealth,  thus,  completed  her  ruin  ; and 
as  the  possession  of  it  had  hardened  her  own  heart, 
so  did  its  anticipation  corrupt  the  hearts  of  those  who 
coveted  it  from  her.  At  length  she  died ; and,  to 
crown  her  misery,  she  retained  reason  enough  at  last 
to  be  sensible  that  she  was  plundered  and  despised 
by  the  very  persons  whose  opinions  had  been  her 
rule  of  conduct  during  her  whole  life. 

On  the  same  spot  and  at  the  foot  of  the  same  shrubs 
as  his  Virginia,  was  deposited  the  body  of  Paul ; and 
round  about  them  lie  the  remains  of  their  tender 
mothers  and  their  faithful  servants.  No  marble 
marks  the  spot  of  their  humble  graves,  — no  inscrip- 
tion records  their  virtues ; but  their  memory  is  en- 
graven upon  the  hearts  of  those  whom  they  have 
befriended,  in  indelible  characters.  Their  spirits 
have  no  need  of  the  pomp  which  they  shunned  dur- 
ing their  life ; but  if  they  still  take  an  interest  in 
what  passes  upon  earth,  they  no  doubt  love  to  wander 
beneath  the  roofs  of  these  humble  dwellings,  inhab- 
ited by  industrious  virtue,  to  console  poverty  discon- 
tented with  its  lot,  to  cherish  in  the  hearts  of  lovers 
the  sacred  flame  of  fidelity,  and  to  inspire  a taste  for 


96 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


the  blessings  of  nature,  a love  of  honest  labor,  and 
a dread  of  the  allurements  of  riches. 

The  voice  of  the  people,  which  is  often  silent  with 
regard  to  the  monuments  raised  to  kings,  has  given 
to  some  parts  of  this  island  names  which  will  immor- 
talize the  loss  of  Virginia.  Near  the  Isle  of  Amber, 
in  the  midst  of  sand-banks,  is  a spot  called  The  Pass 
of  the  Saint-Geran,  from  the  name  of  the  vessel  which 
was  there  lost. 

The  extremity  of  that  point  of  land  which  you  see 
yonder,  three  leagues  off,  half-covered  with  water, 
and  which  the  Saint-Geran  could  not  double  the  night 
before  the  hurricane,  is  called  The  Cape  of  Misfor- 
tune ; and  before  us,  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  is  the 
Bay  of  the  Tomb,  where  Virginia  was  found  buried  in 
the  sand ; as  if  the  waves  had  sought  to  restore  her 
corpse  to  her  family,  that  they  might  render  it  the  last 
sad  duties  on  those  shores  where  so  many  years  of 
her  innocent  life  had  been  passed. 

Joined  thus  in  death,  ye  faithful  lovers,  who  were 
so  tenderly  united  ! unfortunate  mothers  ! beloved 
family ! these  woods  which  sheltered  you  with  their 
foliage,  — these  fountains  which  flowed  for  you,  — 
these  hillsides  upon  which  you  reposed,  still  deplore 
your  loss  ! No  one  has  since  presumed  to  cultivate 
that  desolate  spot  of  land,  or  to  rebuild  those 
humble  cottages.  Your  goats  are  become  wild; 
your  orchards  are  destroyed ; your  birds  are  all  fled, 
and  nothing  is  heard  but  the  cry  of  the  sparrowhawk, 
as  it  skims  in  quest  of  prey  around  this  rocky  basin. 

As  for  myself,  since  I have  ceased  to  behold  you,  I 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


197 


have  felt  friendless  and  alone,  like  a father  bereft  of 
his  children,  or  a traveller  who  wanders  by  himself 
over  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Ending  with  these  words,  the  good  old  man  retired, 
bathed  in  tears ; and  my  own,  too,  had  flowed  more 
than  once  during  this  melancholy  recital. 


